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http://www.archive.org/details/poems03dohe 



POEMS 

By 

WALTER J. DOHERTY 




1922 






Copyright IQ22 
By WALTER J. DOHERTY 



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IC1A705040 



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CONTENTS 

Page 

Dedication 13 

Introduction 14 

Preface , 15 

Hymn of Praise 17 

America and Her Allies 18 

How Americans Repay 20 

When the War is Over 21 

America is Calling 23 

A Lift for the Soldier 24 

America Triumphant 25 

The War Lord of Europe 27 

Kaiser Villum's on the Run 28 

An American Girl Cast Upon An Irish Shore 30 

Death of Sir Roger Casement 35 

A Beauty Spot in the Ocean 36 

Tribute to Terence McSweeney 37 

Home 38 

Charms of Nature 40 

Different Views of Life 41 

Each Season Has Its Pleasures 42 

Songs of Old 43 

Early Memories of My Wife 45 

Lamentations of Age 46 

Departed Friends 48 

Declining Years 49 

Opportunities Lost 50 

True Friendship 52 

The Two Paths of Life 53 

The Prodigal Son 54 

Christ's Words Are Divine 56 

Mother of Christ 58 

Dear Father Park 60 

Father Park 62 

Miss Othel Luallin 63 

Miss Othel Luallin , 65 

Dear Sister Alaysia 66 

The Cloudless Sky 67 

Maiden's Charms and Chances 68 

Love and Marriage 69 



CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Lost Love 71 

Love's Dream 72 

Couldn't Live Without You 73 

Her Absent Lover 75 

Colloquy of a Divorced Man 77 

Two Make Good Company 79 

To My Good Neighbor, J. S. Pool 80 

On the Top of Coyote Hill, Oklahoma 83 

Mr. Morgan 85 

Flowers Everywhere 87 

We Know Not Why 88 

Her First Sorrow 90 

The First Rose of Summer 91 

Tribute to a Departed Young Widow 93 

A Man Alone is His Wife's Keeper 95 

They'll Make Up 96 

Man Needs a Helper 97 

The Dog Thief 99 

Ode to My Auto 100 

One Hour 101 

Texas 102 

Tomorrow „ 103 

Baby's Sympathy for Mother 104 

Baby in the Hammock 106 

A Smile 108 

Mother, My Guiding Star 109 

Baby Waiting for Papa 110 

The Traveling Salesman Ill 

Tribute to Rev. E. F. Park, Fort Worth 113 

Good Friday 114 

Easter Morning 115 

When Man Gets Oil 116 

Funeral Dirge .118 

The Beauty of the Morning Skies 119 

"The Sea-Gull's Haunts" 120 

The Woodland Scene 121 

"Winds and Waves" 122 

Killarney 124 

The River Flesk and Its Affluents 126 

The Ivy Green 128 

The Garden of Flowers 130 

The Queen of Spring 132 

A Rainy Day 134 

"Before I Owned An Automobile" 136 

10 



CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

"An Auto Ride" 138 

The Vacant Spot 141 

The Miser 142 

Riches Vanish 144 

To What Man Ought Aspire 145 

The Inebriate 146 

The Emigrant 148 

The Pearl 150 

The Wayward Boy 152 

The Fireside - 153 

Christmas Memories 155 

"The Retrospect" 159 

Reminiscence of the Widower 161 

The Road Thru Life 162 

Ready for the Chase 164 

The Maiden's Reverie 166 

Her Engagement Ring 168 

"Lay Me in My Little Bed" 170 

Motherless Child 171 

A Mother's Love 173 

The Baby's Cry 175 

Love's Welcome 176 

The Orphan Boy 177 

The Vacant Parlor 179 

Gone, Gone Forever 180 

"Thoughts" 182 

"The Lord Hath Found Her Ready" 183 

The Silent City 185 

The Queen of Heaven 188 

The Martyr 189 

The Martyr's Child 191 

The Garden of Eden 193 

The Value of Time 195 

Today— But Not Tomorrow 197 

"Time Is Ever Calling Us Away" 199 

The End of the Story 200 



11 



When stars were dotted o'er the sky 
And lovers spoke a fond good-bye, 
And night had chased the day away, 
I'd sit and write my lonesome lay. 



DEDICATION 

I dedicate these poems to the "Motherless Child," 
as I did my last to her departed mother. She entered the 
world at the time she lost the best friend she possibly 
could have on earth; no love that God ever created in 
this world can compare with the love of a mother for 
her infant, without reference to the Divine Love of 
Christ, which was a supernatural love. 

While others may give the same care and possibly 
greater, it is impossible for them to give the same love 
as that love which is essentially in a mother's heart. 

Implanted there by God, Himself, who does all 
things perfect, and which cannot be equaled by any 
other. 

The mother takes the infant to her bosom and gives 
those tender caresses only possible to a mother, then 
holds it out at arm's length and with her eyes beaming 
with love and tenderness, she feasts them in the en- 
joyment of her darling. Then with a convulsive and 
spasmodic grasp she draws it to her heart, when the 
two little arms encircling the neck of its mother, with 
whom the essence of happiness on earth is found, and 
the sweet contentment and happiness that baby shows in 
its face can only be equaled by that look of satisfaction, 
contentment, love and happiness expressed in that of its 
mother — truly two hearts with one soul. 

Still the infant deprived of its mother never suf- 
fers the pains and anguish of heart that the child who 
realizes what it has lost and which had once tasted the 
sweetness of a mother's love, when they are deprived 
of the fond caresses, their natural heritage, the privation 
of which will make such impression on their memories 
that time will never obliterate. 

W. J. DOHERTY. 

13 



INTRODUCTION 

Many of the beautiful verses of this book of poems 
are inspired by the presence of Mary Cecilia Gaudin, the 
child whose photograph holds such a prominent place 
among them. 

To feel deep down in one's heart their love and to 
appreciate them in their fullness we must only recall 
the fact that Mary Cecilia is the child of a Martyred 
Mother, who gave her life that her child might live. 

In the beautiful words of her grandfather, "Cecilia's 
mother was a guiding star whose light was always bright." 
Yet Mary Cecilia never felt the divine warmth of that 
light, which was extinguished for her that she might live. 

May the Guardian Angel ever protect the "Mother- 
less Child" and may the child, if the call of God ever 
exacts it, be as noble and heroic in virtue as the mother 
whom she knows only through a picture. 

REV. E. F. PARK, C. M. 



14 



PREFACE 

Poetry is the essence of literature; it is the pure 
gold, as it were, extracted from the base bullion. It 
inspires and directs the thoughts and actions of man and 
brings out the best traits in his nature. 

While prose is read and quickly forgotten, poetry 
is committed to memory and repeated over and over 
again and never grows old. No speaker has ever at- 
tained the zenith of perfection as a public lecturer or 
orator unless he was first well supplied with an ample 
stock of poetry to be quoted at intervals as occasion re- 
quired. He would quote a verse or two from some 
well-known or perhaps obscure poet to prove the asser- 
tions of his statements or at least to strengthen his 
argument. 

The mother who looks with such abiding love and 
affection upon the infant in her arms fondles it to her 
heart and there with a love no words are found adequate 
to express, will sing her baby to sleep in quiet con- 
tentment and soothe the throbbing heart or the sobbing 
sighs of her darling by the meter, music, and charm of 
song. 

The child will recite its little verse with pardonable 
pride and, once memorized, is seldom, if ever, forgotten. 

The maiden in love will sing or hum her love song, 
not from her lips alone but from her heart and will 
repeat verse after verse with zest and animation, re- 
flecting on each word as if it were the first time it were 
ever uttered and, pondering them over in her heart, she 
will fancy each verse as applicable and apply it to her- 
self as if intended for her and her alone. 

_ The soldier marching to battle is thrilled and in- 
spired to action by the chivalrous strains of music and 

15 



song and the soul-inspired thoughts of the poet live in 
him again and incite him to heroic deeds of daring and 
valor. 

The old, who are no longer able to extract any 
other pleasures or comfort out of life, will repeat and 
muse to himself extracts from songs of his youth. Very 
often the only company he has left to amuse and en- 
tertain him in his declining years. 

He will sit by the fire or in the shade and his thoughts 
will revert, wander and keep time with the songs and 
rhymes he has committed to memory in years long 
gone by; and in thought and song he will again renew 
his youth and grow young like the eagle. And yet, 
when time and death shall claim its own and his mortal 
remains are consigned to the bosom of the earth, even 
then chants and song, mingled with prayer shall ac- 
company him till the earth is closed above him and he 
is shut out from the life and light of the world forever. 

Truly, poetry and song accompany us from the cradle 
to the grave. In fact, poetry and song have played a 
much more important part in the destiny of nations than 
has generally been accredited to them. Poetry is no 
special prerogative of any nation and has been used to 
a more or less extent from the earliest ages. 

No tribe or people has ever been so degraded but 
they still retained some strains of poetry and music, 
and no nation has advanced far in learning, science, 
intelligence and civilization without being animated and 
imbued by the sweet strains of music and song. 

In fact it has been an infallible help and comfort 
to mankind in all ages and will no doubt continue so 
until time shall be no more. 

When song shall have winged its flight into eter- 
nity there to be taken up in the glorious Hosannas by 
the Heavenly Choir. 

Glory, Glory, Glory to God on High! 

W. J. DOHERTY. 

16 



HYMN OF PRAISE. 

Blessed be God the Creator, 
Our King that reigns forever; 
Blessed be Christ our Redeemer; 
Blessed be His Virgin Mother; 
Blessed be Him in His Angels, 
And His Saints now glorified. 
May His praise be sung through the ages 
By us for whom He died. 

Chorus. 

Oh God, the Father eternal, 
Oh Son of God Divine, 
And Holy Ghost coequal, 
One Godhead all combined, 
Oh God, our God forever; 
Christ, Son of the most High, 
Of life and light the Giver, 
We pray Thee hear our cry. 

Blessed be the God of Nations, 
Blessed be the God of Hosts, 
Blessed be Him in His creations; 
Blessed be Him more and most 
Blessed be Him through eternity, 
And the trying years of time; 
Our hope here and security. 
Oh God, Thou God of mine. 

Chorus. 



17 



AMERICA AND HER ALLIES. 

Sound the loud blast of trumpet o'er the land, 
And herald forth the tread of noble heroes, 
As fresh recruits they march a willing band, 
And join our allies' forces, hand in hand, 
Upon the battlefield or in the trenches. 

The Stars and Strips they flutter 'neath the sun, 
As steadily our forces stand ever defying, 
The mercenary hordes who rob and steal, 
And live in awe beneath a tyrant's heel 
As fearfully they do his cruel bidding. 

The sons of France we ever proudly cheer, 

Who stood undaunted 'neath the fiercest battles; 

And proud we are of so noble a career, 

As those of them who gave their lives they sold them 

very dear, 
Upon the bloody fields where death projectiles rattle. 

All honor to Belgian's brave who fought 

And held the tyrants who defied all treaties, 

And made their greatest efforts come to naught 

As every foot of ground they gained they dearly bought 

And paid a price that made their rulers shudder. 

And America, too, she hurried to the breach 
To stop the tide of human hordes inpouring, 
And taught to them a lesson they would teach ; 
For though they sought for war they vainly now beseech 
And plead for peace but now their pleadings were ig- 
noring. 



18 



But now the cloud that shed a gloom o'er France, so fair, 
And hid obscure the sunlight from that lovely land of 

fashion, 
And though deserted by the faithless Russian Bear. 
They showed no sign of wrath nor did they fear, 
As soon all land unto the Rhine shall be their own 

possession. 

The darkness of the evil days are past and gone 
And now the sunlight of a glorious freedom is in vision, 
As Americans are never known to brook a wrong 
And fight unto the end, be the time short or long, 
To a great and glorious Nation she has now arisen. 



19 



HOW AMERICANS REPAY. 

Americans, ever proudly remember your name, 
A name that was won in the battles of fame, 
A name that was handed from sire to son 
In your battles for right and for liberty won ! 

A name that resounds through the world today 
Shall be feared and revered in the far, far away. 
We've entered a war where the right is at stake, 
A war nor its cause which we did not create. 

Americans remember your glorious past 
That a war you once entered has never been lost, 
Every cause you've espoused has ever been right, 
And may the great God of Victory lead you in this fight. 

A fight for the weak, for the freedom of all, 

Shall cause despotic monarchies to crumble and fall, 

America shall ride as the crest of the wave 

From the Land of the West and the Home of the Brave. 

And march 'neath their colors in battle arrayed, 
As they know not defeat and of none are afraid, 
And repay with good interest the debt of the past, 
And the service France rendered shall be paid for at last. 

At last, though a century and more has past o'er 

Since we a weak struggling nation they stepped on our 

shore 
And offered their bravest, their best men and true 
To embellish this Nation with the Red, White and Blue. 

When Americans repay they repay not in part, 
But repay with a tenfold from a generous heart; 
And their deeds are recounted forever, for they, 
When they do a good work, never do it half-way. 

20 



WHEN THE WAR IS OVER. 

When the war is over and peace restored once more, 
And the soldiers shall return to their loving ones again ; 

With the scars of battle bearing proof of burdens which 
they bore, 
But their sacrifice and sufferings not in vain. 

They leave behind a grateful land and people who shall 
cherish, 
The memory of the Nation who so helped them in 
good time, 
And when 'tis over their name shall live e'en though 
some of them perish, 
And France shall then be bounded by the west bank 
of the Rhine. 

The bonds of friendship once forged so true, America 
and France combined, 
Who fought together hand in hand as only friends 
can do, 
They fought for freedom, both together, as if they had 
one mind, 
They fought, as now in one command although there 
had been two. 

They both doth fight for freedom, and not for gold nor 
gain, 
They've both a mission to fulfill and in that they shall 
not fail; 
They both are free Republics not only in the name, 
And freedom's banner is their light and righteousness 
their aim. 



21 



Invest your money in Liberty Bonds, they won't corrode 
nor rust, 
And do your duty as a man and feel you've done 
your best; 
And whip the Kaiser to his knees, and humble him to 
the dust, 
For of all the brutes in human form, the Kaiser 
is the worst. 




22 



AMERICA IS CALLING. 

America is calling, she's calling at our door, 

America is calling as she never called before; 

She is calling for our money, and she's calling for our 

men, 
To finance those, her battles, in this war she's going to 

win. 

America is calling, she's calling for her right, 

She is calling for the weapons with which to win this 

fight; 
She is calling for our money which we must turn in, 
For to finance those, her battles, in this war she's going 

to win. 

America is calling, but she'll pay well in return, 
She'll pay us with good interest on those bonds what 

they shall earn, 
She'll pay us with good interest each six months and 

each year; 
For she's going to whip the Kaiser and of that we have 

no fear. 

America is calling on us now to buy Thrift Stamps, 
And all willing shall buy them but the traitors and the 

tramps ; 
She's calling for our money and she's calling for our men 
In this, her hour of triumph, for this war she's going to 

win. 



23 



A LIFT FOR THE SOLDIER. 

A lift for the soldier as far as you go; 

A lift for the soldier and sailor, 
Twill help to alleviate part of his woe, 

And relieve him of much toilsome labor. 

A lift for the soldier as far as you go, 

As far as you go, and yet farther, 
For he has some loved ones at home we don't know, 

A sweetheart, wife, mother or father. 

A lift for the soldier, he deserves it and more; 

He has left home, his friends and relations, 
Where accustomed to ride, now his feet get so sore 

Which adds to his toil, tribulations. 

He sacrificed pleasures and comforts and home 

To fight for our Flag and our Nation, 
And we in some manner should try to atone 

And make to him some reparation. 

He appreciates greatly a lift on the road, 
I know. I've oft heard such expression; 

Twill make you feel better to do a good deed 
And make him so small a concession. 

So do not pass by him, though he's healthy and strong, 

But be kind to the Soldier and Sailor; 
And when you go riding just take him along, 

And not leave him behind as a trailer. 



24 



AMERICA TRIUMPHANT. 

Americans have risen to meet their friends of yore; 
They have left their loved America for a distant foreign 

shore ; 
They have bidden farewell to loved ones they may never 

greet again, 
As they may yet be numbered with the brave ones that 

are slain. 

They have gone to help the Allies and to fight for 

Freedom's cause, 
And to keep the Huns on running and to give them 

no time to pause; 
They have left their loved America and their wives and 

sweethearts true, 
As they proudly bear the banner of the Red, the White 

and Blue. 

America has risen in her might and in her main, 
She has risen to take vengeance for the innocent ones 

slain ; 
For the peaceful Lusitania which was sunk by lurking 

foes, 
To avenge such cowardly murder, in her vengeance she 

arose. 

They shall win the war for Freedom, as they believe 
no man should rule 

And make his cringing subjects to be his willing tool; 

Now the Kaiser's days are numbered and he .must ac- 
cept his fate, 

For America and her Allies will soon be at his gate. 



25 



At the gate and it must open to the victors who'll dictate 
To the Kaiser and his subjects what is to be their fate; 
They have defied America, and for that they soon shall 

pay, 
For the time is soon approaching which will be their 

reckoning day. 




26 



THE WAR LORD OF EUROPE. 

The war lord of Europe, tho' used in disdain, 
Yet it went to his head and it softened his brain; 
He tried to maintain it, but his efforts were vain, 
For now in despair remorse wrecks his dull brain. 

The war lord of Europe, how empty the name, 
As he never had earned or merited same; 
Tho' in it he gloried what now is his gain, 
For he shot at his mark but it proved a bad aim. 

The war lord of Europe, he once lived at ease, 
His ships they were famous on the seven seas; 
His colors flew proudly in the calm and the breeze, 
But now the old reptile is down on his knees. 

He is looking for succor to solace his grief 
But no one is found to give him relief, 
As none v/ant to share with the robber and thief; 
For tho* there are others, yet he is the chief. 

The war lord of Europe he would murder and maim 
And seek every means his vile aims to attain ; 
But the land of his exile is open and plain 
Where he and his sons they shall mourn and wail. 



27 



KAISER VILLUM'S ON THE RUN. 

He had dreamed of world empire as the Romans did of 

old, 
He would fill his war-chest fuller with the Allies' stock 

of gold, 
He would make us pay him tribute at the muzzle of the 

gun, 
But now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

He had dreamed of South America and the islands of 

the Coast, 
He would break the Monroe Doctrine, which was his 

idle boast, 
He would cross the mighty ocean to see the work well 

done, 
But now he's changed his notion — Kaiser Villum's on 

the run. 

He would lease or seize the islands on the coast of 

Panama, 
And what we thought about it he did not care a straw, 
He would dominate the passage on that matter he had 

begun, 
But now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

There was set upon that numbskull a diadem or crown, 
Which he'd leave to his posterity with glory and renown, 
But the warlock's glory is waning; we can see his setting 

sun, 
For now his vision's fading — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

He was decked in regal splendor and he sat upon a 
throne, 

28 



He would conquer the whole world and hold it as his 

own, 
He would dictate all the terms when the World War 

was won, 
But now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

We soon shall sound his death knell, he shall pay well 

for each crime, 
For America and her Allies will soon cross o'er the Rhine, 
And when we cross that river, 'twill be the setting of his 

sun, 
For now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

He would emulate Attila and would be the scourge of 

God, 
And would fill the world with orphans, the old reprobate 

is mad, 
So we now must crush the reptile, and that arrogant 

wappe, his son, 
But now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 



He has proved an alert sprinter since this little piece was 

wrote, 
And he sprinted off to Holland to a corner most remote, 
There he'll sink into oblivion, unmourned and unsung, 
For now his dream is over — Kaiser Villum's on the run. 

He shall die obscure in Holland or in exile far from 

home, 
Or be held an abject prisoner, for his crimes he must 

atone, 
He may yet hang on a scaffold or be shot at rising sun, 
For now his dream is over — Villum Hohenzollern has 

made his run. 

29 



AN AMERICAN GIRL CAST UPON AN IRISH SHORE 

How beautiful her form as it lay there cold in death 
Upon the sands of a rocky coast with the spray upon her 

wet; 
No pillow for her head to rest, no shroud to clothe her 

form, 
No loving hands to smooth her hair or shield her from 

the storm. 

No one to shield her from the beasts or the keen-eyed 

birds of prey, 
No one to kneel beside her bier or lay her 'neath the clay; 
Her hand clutched tightly to the cross that hung upon 

her neck 
And she still held it as a treasure when washed from 

off the deck. 

The ship had fought a noble fight to master wind and 

waves 
And save the precious load it held from cold and watery 

graves ; 
But elements too strong for man and the works that he 

divined, 
He could not make a ship withstand and conquer waves 

and wind. 

The sea-birds circled 'round the ship with their shrill, 

piercing cry 
As they darted sudden towards the waves or upwards 

toward the sky. 
But a scowl came o'er the seaman's face though it was 

against his will, 
When he saw that swift-winged ominous bird, the stormy 

petrel. 

30 



The omen of ill news they say, the symbol of bad luck, 
Or perhaps they see through instinctive signs the ship 

was doomed to sink; 
The clouds banked low, the lightning flashed with their 

vivid lurid light, 
While the storm struck with a sudden blast and stretched 

the canvas tight. 

The wise ones looked and shook their heads and said 

they feared the worst; 
When o'er the ship with squalls and mist the raging 

storm burst. 
She stood upon the seething deck, brave men they quaked 

with fear, 
And though the storm swept the deck, they knelt in 

silent prayer. 

The seamen shout "Go seek the hold, no human here 

can stand, 
The ship and all hands must be lost if we can't reach 

the land." 
The merciless waves in fury beat, the sails were rent 

in twain, 
Above the storm's fury could be heard the voice of 

women crying. 

But still she stood upon the deck her frail and youthful 

form ; 
And held a cross pressed to her lips, and tightly closed 

her arm. 
No more could sailors tread the deck, but clung onto 

the rail, 
And those who saw just held their breath for they were 

ghastly pale. 

But still the good ship plowed the waves in that unequal 
strife, 

31 



But merciless blew the piercing gale that called for 
every life. 

The boats were lowered as last resort and dropped to 
leeward side, 

In hopes that they could clear the ship and on the break- 
ers ride. 

With hopes arisen in their hearts that they may reach 

the shore, 
The stalwart sailors bared their breasts and strained at 

every oar. 
With hopes and fears both crowding fast as each one 

seemed to strive, 
And hoped that they would stem the blast and reach 

the shore alive. 

What visions passed before their minds of good or evil 

done, 
Some in hysteric fits were thrown, and some were 

stricken dumb. 
And some had fallen in their fears with trepidation great, 
And some in silent prayer enrapt resignedly met their 

fate. 

But yet in that momentous hour the sea in fury bore, 

And opened wide its yawning mouth; that boat was seen 
no more. 

While other boats were quickly lowered, for while there's 
life there's hopes; 

The surging sea beat harder still and strained the tight- 
ening ropes. 

But e'er a soul could reach its side, it quivered and it 

spun, 
And sank beneath the surging waves, as the other just 

had done. 

32 



There still remained another chance for those who wished 

to try, 
For life is never lost but once no matter how we die. 

But what the fate of those who tried, I shall let others 

tell, 
For the ship was lurched upon its prow by one great 

mighty swell. 
Some clung to spars, some took to rafts, and some 

dropped o'er the side, 
And some still clung to the sinking bark that wafted 

with the tide. 

But the maiden fair clung to the deck with a constancy 

sublime, 
Unmindful of the cold and wet and the weary hours 

of time. 
For constancy is woman's forte, her sole prerogative. 
And she would still hold to the boat were she to die or 

live. 

She'll cling still to a worthless man and follow at his side, 
Although in want she's pale and wan since she became 

his bride. 
Unmindful of what others say, she cares not what they 

think; 
She'll follow him through life's rough sea until the 

wreck shall sink. 

She stood upon the floundering mass, the rest all drowned 

or fled, 
I knew her not in life, alas, but found my heroine dead. 
Yet death it is but nature's balm ; to the just 'tis peaceful 

rest. 
She looked as sweet in death and calm, it is the Lord's 

behest. 

33 



The wind blew strong and drove the wreck upon an alien 

land; 
And cast that maiden fair upon the rocks and whitened 

sand. 
And strangers though they were, they took and laid her 

out with care, 
And crossed her hands upon her breast with many a 

fervent prayer. 

Within a shady grove nearby, beside that rocky shore, 
Where, had she lived, she could have heard the winds 

and waters roar. 
They planted o'er her grave thereon, a weeping willow 

tree, 
To mark the spot where she was laid, that maid from 

o'er the sea. 

The birds still flit around that grove and pipe their 

tuneful lay, 
And they who laid her 'neath the sod were now growing 

old and gray. 
But those who chanced to pass that way, and children 

when at play, 
Were taught to revere that spot where that fair maiden 

lay. 

And parents of a stormy night when winds and waves 

were high, 
Would tell their children 'round the hearth her story with 

a sigh; 
And cross themselves and ask the Lord to save those 

ones in peril, 
To save them from a watery grave and fate of that fair 

girl. 



34 



DEATH OF SIR ROGER CASEMENT. 

With a spirit true and brave, 

He no clemency would crave, 

So they sent him to the grave 

For a crime: 

For which heroes fought and died, 
And all taunts of death defied; 
But their memory shall abide 
For all time: 

To a cringing, craven foe 
He no homage would bestow, 
And his head he would not bow 
To their yoke: 

For his spirit born free, 
In a superlative degree 
As it shall forever be 

Where he reigns: 

To the foot of God he rose, 
Where his spirit doth repose, 
There, to plead his country's woes 
At the throne: 

For God sanctified his death 
And he died without regret 
As he prayed with his last breath 
For his cause. 



35 



A BEAUTY SPOT IN THE OCEAN. 

Ireland, Mavourneen, dear spot in the ocean, 

Whose children have peopled the earth's distant 
spheres ; 

And spread through the world both faith and devotion, 
Which they took as their portion to both hemispheres. 

Dear Ireland, forsaken, but never forgotten, 

By thy sons and thy daughters, the comely and brave, 

For though we have crossed the Atlantic's deep waters, 
We sigh for thee still and for thee our hearts crave. 

Ireland, the grave of the saints who were martyred, 
Who suffered through ages for freedom and faith; 

Whose faith and whose virtue they sold not nor bartered, 
Which they left to their children to perpetuate. 

Ireland, the gem which adorns the ocean, 
'Tis little for beauty so rare's seldom seen, 

But they, chivalrous sons, have set worlds in motion, 
From the Gem of the Ocean, that island so green. 

Ireland, Mavourneen, how fair are thy daughters, 
How constant and steadfast, how faithful and true, 

No blemish can rest on thy fair name we cherish, 
And with joy we would perish and die for you, too. 

Ireland, Mavourneen, tho' small be thy portion; 

A speck in the ocean, a star in the sea, 
Yet thy militant sons who would brook no dictation, 

Have regained a lost nation and made Ireland free. 



36 



TRIBUTE TO TERENCE McSWEENEY. 

A martyr to his country's cause 
To prove his people's right, 

He would forego of nature's laws, 
Defying England's might. 

No bribes nor threats within her power 
No strategy, wiles nor force 

At her command could break his will 
Nor make him change his course. 

A patriot, for his country died, 

As thousands had before; 
Although it was in bloodless strife, 

Yet in death he suffered more. 

A beacon star, to be our guide, 
Though we emulate not his fast ; 

He shall be and is his country's pride, 
And his name through time shall last. 

A hero and a martyr, true, 
And a patriot he'd embrace, 

Faithful to God and country, too, 
And a credit to our race. 



37 



HOME. 

Home! The name that thrills the heart 
With joy and fills the soul with longing, 

And seems though it be only part, 
As if it were our whole belonging. 

Tis lisped from baby's yearning heart, 
And by the old whose fast declining, 

It fills the present and the past, 
And lingers in our hearts, undying. 

Its spacious rooms our thoughts doth fill, 
And all the grandeur that surrounds it. 

Our thoughts doth turn to it still, 

Where we first sought pleasure, there we found it 

E'en though it boasts no stately mansions, 
Nor Arts of man were lavished there; 

The grandeur are its decorations 
That goes to make a home so dear. 

For though no spacious grounds surround it, 
Nor landscape gardeners try their skill, 

Fond memories, past that e'er entwineth, 
Our thoughts doth turn to it still. 

For home is not the walls and gardens, 
And pretty rooms with draperies grand, 

Nor frescoed halls with gilded trimmings, 
That's set upon a piece of land. 



38 



Home is where our hearts are centered, 
Drawn thither by magnetic powers; 

A home should hold us e'er contented, 
Where we may spend our happy hours. 

The decorations are the loved ones, 
Who ever ornament the home, 

And truly makes the real attractions, 
For which none else can e'er atone. 




39 



CHARMS OF NATURE. 

I love the sun that rose, 
I love the wind that blows, 
I love the trees in bloom, 
The bright light and the gloom. 

I love the grass when green, 
The beauties of each scene. 
The moon's pale halo light, 
The stars that sparkle bright. 

The ocean's billowy waves 
That roar through vacant caves, 
The sea-birds' notes so shrill, 
That echo 'neath the hill. 

The breakers' restless mood, 
The waters clear and smooth, 
The storm and the calm, 
They each possess a charm. 

The mountain and the hills, 
Where rumbling brooklets thrills, 
And echoes that resound, 
Which everywhere abound. 

The choppy surf with spray 
And foam of hoary gray; 
Each season of the year, 
They bring us joy and care. 



40 



DIFFERENT VIEWS OF LIFE. 

There is no happier life nor free, 

Than a life in the open wilds, 
Where the hills and valleys both combine, 
There the vines and woodbine creep and climb, 
And birds and brooklets sing in rhyme 

Their sweetest melodies. 

There is no life that I would choose 

If I but had my choice, 
Than live a life on the ocean shore 
Where wind and waters beat and roar, 
And screaming sea-birds hover o'er; 

There would be paradise. 

There is no life that suits my heart, 

Which is on travel bent, 
Where I could see the world wide, 
Which I could ever boat with pride, 
And on the different waters ride; 

There I would be content. 

Could I but choose myself a life 

In the busy marts of trade, 
Where I could buy and discount notes, 
And deal in stocks of wheat and oats, 
And load them onto ocean boats; 

There I could live and die. 

But though they all may fascinate, 

The happiest one I see, 
Is one of contentment and quiet, 
Where sparkling eyes are shining bright, 
With children romping with delight; 

That is the life for me. 

41 



EACH SEASON HAS ITS PLEASURES. 

I abide the time with eagerness when the leaves shall 
die and fall, 
When the lilies and daffodils shall fade, 
When the roses and the alphias shall shed their fragrant 
flowers 
And hide themselves through winter in the shade. 

Through the summer's heat intensity they lent their 
gorgeous hues 
To beautify the landscape, hills and dales. 
But now the summer's waning and we seek for other 
views 
Which afford us relaxation from the Sun's hot burning 
rays. 

We greet the coming of the spring with its birds, its 
bees and flowers, 
Then the blossoms cluster thick along the way; 
And we grasp the passing pleasures as we while away 
the hours, 
And we greet with joy the coming of each day. 

Each season has its charms, its pleasures and its pain, 
As the winter with its sleet, ice, snow and frost; 

What is lost to us one season in the other we shall gain; 
Thus we'll spend our lives until we reach the last. 



42 



SONGS OF OLD. 

Sing me a song of the past distant ages, 

Sing me a song of the ages gone by, 
Sing me a song out of history's pages, 

Sing me a song that will make my heart sigh. 

Sing me a song, for our lives are fast waning, 

Like the bloom of the cheek and the light from the eye. 

But their freshness in memory we still are retaining, 
For memory still lives when the beauty must die. 

Sing a fond love song in the dawn of the morning, 
When the sun shines his brightest through the haze 
in the sky, 

When the beauties of youth with its freshness adorning; 
For memories are sweetest when the day hath gone by. 

Sing of the past for it's lost in the distance, 

Though we live life once more in the dreams of the 
night, 
And the old to their musings offers no resistance, 
For their memories still linger though dim be their 
sight. 

Sing an old song as it mellows the memory, 

For the old seldom laugh though they be prone to cry; 

And like the dying swan when he sings his last melody, 
As he floats down the waters, alone, there to die. 

Sing me the songs that I heard in my boyhood, 

For only through songs shall our youth be renewed; 

For music brings age again back to childhood, 
As the mind, enrapt, muses in bliss quietude. 

43 



Sing an old love song, it's balm to the wan heart, 

And renews all the memories which mankind doth 
cherish, 
It binds up the cords that grief doth tear apart, 

For without its sweet strains we would wither and 
perish. 




44 



EARLY MEMORIES OF MY WIFE. 

Though life be fading fast, 
And dim my sight may be, 

While lingering life shall last, 
I'll e'er remember thee. 

As when we first had met, 

'Midst pleasure, void of care, 

I never shall forget 

Such beauty was so rare. 

When evening's fading light 
Fell on your raven hair, 

Your eyes lit up the night, 

Which glowed with lustre there. 

Though life be fading fast, 
Yet memory is ever new, 

And while that life shall last, 
I'll still remember you. 



45 



LAMENTATIONS OF AGE. 

I have written some ten year ago, 
I've oft written of youth and age, 

I didn't know then as I know now 

How much truth was contained in each page, 

I didn't know all the grief and pain 

That awaited our time to come, 
The smiles of youth we love to see, 

All now are turned to gloom. 

I've oft depicted declining age 

With glad children playing at his feet, 

I didn't know then as I do now 

How much bitter was mixed with the sweet. 

I didn't know then as I do now 

How cheerless a welcome home 
When the aged returns from worry and care, 

There was none there with him to condole. 

I didn't know then as I know now 

Everything he did was wrong, 
And every word he ventured to speak 

He was told was the same old song. 

The many attentions that help time to beguile, 
No more does he know them at all; 

And no one is found to cheer him with a smile 
Nor give him a friendly call. 



46 



In silence he moves along on the way 
As beauty and youth flits past, 

As he in his time has had his day, 
But now that day is past. 

The smiles of youth must change in age, 
And its joys and pleasures must fade. 

When life's book is read to the closing page, 
And the closing page is old age. 




47 



DEPARTED FRIENDS. 

Old friends are nearly gone, 
Those whom I used to know 
Long years ago; 
And left no trace behind 

To mark the way that I may know 
Which way they go. 
Their memory's fading fast 
Like Autumn's blast 
That hurries by; 
And I must follow, too, 
And so must you, 
For all must die. 

It is the fate of all 
Since Adam's fall, 
God's will be blest, 
For man oft strives in vain, 
In grief and pain, 

And needs at last a rest. 
If it were only death, 
I'd not regret, 
As quiet I crave, 
Which nowhere else is found 
In earth's vast bounds 
Outside the grave. 



48 



DECLINING YEARS. 

Tis a comfort to spend your declining days 
Beneath your own roof or 'neath the cool shade, 
Where your children's loved children gambol and play, 
Or recline there to rest in the heat of the day. 

With their voices as cheery, so sprightly and gay, 
As they sit at your feet, then are up and away; 
While the bees buzz and flutter in the sweet-scented 

flowers, 
That open their petals to drink the spring showers. 

And the song birds o'erhead that sing in delight, 
Enlivens the dreams that darken the sight, 
All nature is young and all life is renewed, 
But except by the children the old are eschewed. 

And the comrades he knew in his earlier days, 
Who now are as vapid as he in their ways; 
They seek there for comfort and solace like he 
In their quaint recollections and past memory. 

For the child to the Old is the only companion, 
But the gay and the proud are eager to shun him, 
For the Old is a child again in his ways, 
And he, too, as a child must spend his last days. 



49 



OPPORTUNITIES LOST. 

Old age sits alone and forsaken, 

None to care for his wishes and wants, 

Like the leaves in the fall that are shaken, 
Or the late frost that withers the plants. 

He muses o'er pleasures that's faded, 

And the friends of his youth that are gone, 

Of the money and time that he wasted, 
Of the fleet race of life that he ran. 

With retrospective reviews on his vision, 
Now his days are pathetic and few, 

Though he may have a touch of compunction, 
But there's little left now he can do. 

For the light of the world, it dazzled, 
And the vain ostentation of youth 

Hath kept his strange thoughts often puzzled, 
And confused, oft, the lies with the truth. 

So he wafted with streams oft conflicting, 
As he moved with the ebb and the flow, 

And he gave little time to reflecting 
On the way in which he ought to go. 

For the swifter the current the easier, 

And the less of his efforts it took, 
And he passed quickly over the rapids, 

And the straight paths of life he forsook. 



50 



But the rapids oft lead us to danger, 
And cause many crafts to be lost, 

But they fascinate fools and the stranger, 
But we cannot come back when they're past. 




51 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 

To loving friends though they be few, 

For they're worth more than gold and pearls, 

For loving hearts are always true, 

Such ones will ever die or do, 

And can't be classed with common churls. 

For Friendship is a precious jewel, 

Twill stand the test of time and weather, 
And can't be worked by any rule, 
For it was never taught at school, 
But is such as we find in mother. 

For "friendship sake," we often hear, 

But of that Friendship see no token; 
They're friends while we have weather clear, 
But when it's cloudy they don't care, 

For then their Friendship's easily broken. 

Lord help those who know not their friends! 

And have no sense of discrimination, 
As some their Friendship but pretend, 
But bring it quickly to an end, 

Upon the first occasion. 

My friends are few but these are precious, 

As I take not all into my fold; 
As we want not those who will desert us, 
And would betimes vex and distress us, 

And leave us when we're weak and old. 



52 



THE TWO PATHS OF LIFE. 

In our youth, like the morning, all radiant with light 
We heed not the darkness as time takes its flight, 
We see not the clouds that are hidden but they 
Shall oft gather a storm at the close of the day. 

We stand on the brink with the world in view, 
We must choose our own path, and there are but the two; 
One leadeth to peace through this valley of tears, 
Tho' often we travel that journey in fears. 

The other seems flowery and fair to behold, 
And seen from a distance is glittering like gold, 
But beneath lurks an abyss with dangers unseen 
Like a whirlpool's eddy, all seems there serene. 

So the waves of this life, they are treacherous, too, 
Though the vortex is hidden from out of our view. 
But when least we expect it towards that chasm we're 

drawn, 
To the whirlpool's vortex where its mouth for us yawns. 

It yawns to engulf us like a beast for its prey 
And those who shall follow that flower-strewn way, 
Where pleasures and pastimes are all that they crave, 
They in time shall be lost in that maelstrom grave. 



53 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 

Born to a rich inheritance beneath a father's care, 
Who lavished on him all the wealth a loving father dare, 
But he knew not of the evil ways that lead men to 

despair. 
He saw the distant hills look green upon the dizzy 

heights, 
And he, too, like the foolish gnat, was dazzled by the 

lights 
That lure men on to death and doom by their visionary 

sights. 

What visions to his mind occurred, relieved of all re- 
straint, 

No more beneath a father's roof, free from the worldly 
taint, 

Where he might lead a righteous life and be in death 
a saint. 

He saw the world beneath his feet with passions un- 
constrained; 

He would not heed a father's voice that youth as yet, 
untrained. 

He'd drink the pleasures here of life, that was at what 
he aimed. 

He saw no bitterness in life, he thought 'twould all be 

sweet. 
He sought the company most perverse that lounge about 

the street; 
When he first had taken his false step 'twas hard then 

to retreat. 
But when his youth and money fled his friends they were 

no more, 

54 



He then saw bitterness and grief as he begged from door 

to door; 
But at last he found repentance and we hope he sinned 

no more. 

He sought admittance 'neath the roof which he had left 

to roam, 
He sought remission for his sins, for them he would 

atone, 
And blessed shall we be, who having strayed like he and 

return to our father's home. 
Yet blessed thrice are we who never stray from beneath 

a father's care, 
Whose watchful eye and loving hand are near to guide 

and cheer, 
And lead us on to rectitude and keep us safely there. 

Amen. 




55 



CHRIST'S WORDS ARE DIVINE. 

Remember Christ, whose blood and life for us were 

given, 
To save our souls from death and purchase for us 

Heaven ; 
And make us brothers all in Him divine, 
When bequeathing us His Mother, Mary, when He was 

dying. 

When hanging on His cross of sorrow and of pain, 
And knowing too well His death for many was in vain, 
As seeing through the distant future He well knew 
That of men the greater number would be lost and only 
saved the few. 

That was the hammer and the nails that caused Him to 

suffer most, 
When He cried to God, his eternal Father, ere He gave 

up the ghost, 
Though well we know He suffered from His earliest 

infant age, 
As fleeing from the tyrant, Herod's, cruel rage. 

And lived a life obscure in want and poverty, 
Divine, unknown, in the poor and lowly town of Gal- 
ilee; 
He chose not for His own the learned and the great, 
But men despised, unlettered, from a lowly state. 

Who were to sow the seed, the words which He had 

spoken, 
And hand them down to future generations in a chain 

unbroken, 

56 



Unbroken, for not one on Peter's chair has ever gone 

astray, 
And so it is and shall continue until the judgment day. 

For Christ, the Lord, has spoken, and though the heavens 

fall, 
And earth's battlements be shaken and there be no 

world at all, 
For should seas and earth all vanish, and the sun should 

cease to shine, 
Christ's promise shall be unbroken, for His word it is 

divine. 



57 



MOTHER OF CHRIST. 

Mary, Mother of Christ Divine, 
Hearken to this rhyme of mine; 
Let not my empty brain confuse 
The words and spirit of the muse. 

Thou, who was in God's own Mind 
Ere He placed on earth mankind, 
Thou, whose place in heaven was made, 
Ere the sun its lustre gave. 

Or the stars that shine by night; 
Thou was foremost in His sight. 
For in Heaven God fixed thy place 
Ere the angels fell from grace. 

Thy heel was destined to crush his head 
As he before thee ever fled, 
For God to thee, great power hath given 
As thou art Queen of earth and heaven. 

Thou art a light upon the earth, 

And it is brighter since thy birth, 

As through thee God redeemed mankind, 

And burst the fetters that doth him bind. 

And left thee to be our advocate, 
Thou, Queen, that openeth the Gate. 
And by thy powerful intercession 
Doth gain for us here each concession. 

What glory, power, and honor is thine, 
Thou, Mother of a Son Divine, 

58 



No human through eternity 
Shall have a glory like to thee. 

The virtue, power and oft the grace 
Which God unfolds upon the race; 
These all through thee are given us 
From God's great store of munificence. 

Hail Mary, let the heavens rejoice, 
That thou art God's eternal choice. 
Hail Mary, may thy praise be sung 
By every nation, tribe and tongue. 




59 



DEAR FATHER PARK: 

How wearily the days passeth over, 
Now the silence of night is at noon 

Since you left, though we hope not forever, 
For here there has settled a gloom. 

The laugh and the joyful handshaking, 

The "God Bless You" that comes from the heart, 

The honest, kind wish ne'er mistaken, 
When uttered whene'er thou dost part. 

The joy thou dost given when a donor, 

Thou givest pleasure when thou dost receive, 

To the friendless thou art a consoler, 
And thou solace the poor ones in deed. 

I say not these things here to praise you, 

Nor cause you vainglory or pride, 
Nor make you a saint or a hero, 

As I have ridden too oft by your side. 

And I know well the trials and temptations 

Which all Godly men have to bear, 
And the worries and little vexations 

They encounter and see everywhere. 

Those sorrows and griefs we encounter, 

And we find them all strewn through our lives, 

Are as stepping-stones which we pass over 
The river before us that lies. 



60 



But those sayings and theories I've quoted 
May seem but the vaporings of fools, 

And their merits each way may be mooted, 
And worked out by different rules. 

For theories are easily expounded, 

As man doth think much with his brain, 

But 'tis a different thing to abstain from all sin, 
And ourselves and our passions constrain. 




61 



FATHER PARK, 

Longview, Texas. 
Dear Father: 

Thou hast left us again on a mission, 

To preach to those faithful or strayed from the fold, 
To preach to them penance for sin and salvation, 

As the Savior by Galilee Sea did of old. 

To preach to them penance against the day coming, 
When God in His Justice and wrath shall appear, 

For from His dread presence there is no chance of 
hiding, 
And sinners shall tremble in terror and fear. 

To preach to unbelievers who know not of Jesus, 
Or live such a life as unfits them for grace, 

Or hardens their hearts against His inspirations, 

Which some would shut out from their hearts or efface. 

Thou art gone among strangers like the prophets sent 
thither, 

To recall to God's worship his people who fell, 
As 'tis now they decide on the future as whether 

They shall spend an eternity in Heaven or hell. 

Thou wer't sent as an Abram from among thine own 
kindred, 

As God would estrange thee from all family ties, 
And bind thee to him in the service thou rendered, 

And teach thee the wealth of this world to despise. 



62 



MISS OTHEL LUALLIN, 

San Antonio. 

Dear Child, I received your kind note with delight, 
From a mind that is versatile and a heart that is light, 
Who has chosen the portion that God has reserved 
For His Chosen beloved by whom He would be served. 

He chose for His own the young, favored and fair, 
Who follow His footsteps in fasting and prayer, 
And devote here a life to His service and love, 
Which prepares them to enter His mansions above. 

His mansions where none but the pure and clean of heart 
Are destined to enter and there form a part, 
And sing with God's Angels in their heavenly choir, 
Tis then, and then only, you'll have your heart's desire. 

For the pleasures of life are both fickle and brief, 
And give no contentment but oft leads to grief. 
The pleasures we seek here they vanish when found, 
Or hold us a captive here, fettered and bound. 

They hold us a captive for the world and sin, 

They open their portals and welcome us in ; 

And promise us pleasures they cannot bestow, 

But the pleasures they give us are anguish and woe. 

Be wise, you'll be happy and you'll be content, 
And when life's span is waning you shall not repent 
That you've given to God your beauty and youth, 
For 'tis now, and now only, you are able to do it. 

63 



When years have gone by and your young days have past, 
And you look to the years which will soon be your last, 
If you shall persevere to the end and serve Him well, 

then 
God will open His mansions and welcome you in. 




64 



MISS OTHEL LUALLIN, 
Corpus Christi, Texas. 

Dear Child, I received your card, which I answer in verse 

And I hope to the same you will not be averse, 

You and your sister whose friendship I prize, 

Whose value and worth I well recognize; 

So now unto you this is what I'll say, 

As you disport yourselves there on a cool Texas bay. 

Dear Child of the South, whose sunlit eyes 
Sparkle and shine as the morning skies, 
Whose sprightly spirit and laughter gay 
Make darkest night as bright as day ; 
And where'er thy presence doth appear 
Thou scattereth sunshine o'er dull care. 

Maid of the South, where as a child 
Thou many a pleasant hour beguiled; 
Through meadows green and flowery dell 
Where murmuring waterfalls could tell 
The sweet soft music of your voice 
Which made the hills and dales rejoice. 

Child of God, His chosen Friend, 
Before whose Will thy own thou bend, 
And walk upon the way He went, 
And praise Him for His blessing sent; 
And look to Him whose child thou art, 
And gave to Him thy loving heart. 

Remember, God is first and last, 
He fills the present and the past, 
And future, too, is His and He, 
Our everlasting prize shall be; 
But we must from ourselves depart 
And give to Him our love and Heart. 

65 



DEAR SISTER ALAYSIA, 

St. Joseph Academy, 

Rockport, N. Y. 

Your letter at band, I am pleased and delighted 

To know you've attained that for which you have 
aspired, 
Now your future seems safe which might have been 
imperiled 
If deprived of those graces of which you'd be denied. 

You start on a journey which all have to travel, 
But not all have been chosen, but only the few. 

For God does not mix His own friends with the rabble, 
But selects His elect for His good work here to do. 

You shall spend here a life either teaching or praying, 
Or what holy obedience prescribes here for you, 

Your reward shall be equal as you are obeying 

The vows you shall take and each year shall renew. 

A sacrifice, we are told, does not equal obedience, 
For obedience is sacrifice, holy and true ; 

To give up your will and your own self-reliance 
Is a grace that's not given to all but a few. 

Though the work of the body and mind may be tiresome, 
And tax both the strength of the muscle and brain, 

But neither of them are as trying and irksome 

As to bow in obedience, as we're all proud and vain. 

But yet you are running the race which St. Paul said 

We all have to run but only the fleet 
Shall win the good race and be crowned for their efforts, 

And I hope you'll be one of success in that feat. 

66 



THE CLOUDLESS SKY. 

I wish it would rain a great big rain, 

I wish it would rain again, 
I wish it would rain and cool off my brain, 

But, alas, my wish is in vain. 

The sky it is bright, no clouds are in sight, 

The weather is still and hot, 
I seem in a daze 'neath the sun's burning rays, 

As if in a boiling vat. 

No birds in the trees there flutter with ease, 

Nor sing their notes of joy, 
But hide in the shade as though they were afraid, 

And they do not even try. 

All nature is still not even the mill 

Would turn a wheel and grind, 
But seems to portest the same as the rest 

Because there is no wind. 

For, now 'tis as quiet as the dead of the night 

Awaiting the day to close, 
When the cool breezes bring on the swift evening wing, 

Gentle zephyrs as when we arose. 

But we must suffer with heat for so it is meet, 

That pleasure be mixed with pain, 
For it takes both combined to sober man's mind, 

And cool off his burning brain. 



67 



MAIDEN'S CHARMS AND CHANCES. 

The Maiden so charming her smile captivates, 

With a twinkle of mirth in her eye. 
And to the swain who would woo her, she sagely dictates, 

As with her every least wish he'd comply. 

For now is her hey-day, she holds sway o'er man's mind, 
But the springtime of life will soon pass; 

And then her lost charms will be futile to bind 
The mind she once held in her grasp. 

Those beguiling love glances she'll foster or shun 
As by instinct she knows that she must; 

Or the swain she'd admire most or finally win, 
And in whose keeping she'd place all her trust. 

She'd place in his keeping what a maid holds most dear, 
Her happiness and comfort through life; 

For where there's much love there's no room for fear, 
And such should be the case with a wife. 

But, alas, charms will vanish as time shall go by, 

As each year of her life will depart, 
And the pleasures and pastimes she lived to enjoy, 

Will oft leave a great void in her heart. 

The chances of life we must catch as they fly, 
Though not all in accord with our mind. 

And we must not sit still and watch them go by, 
As in this world we no better can find. 

A man's subject to pleasure and subject to pain, 
And his path here is oft strewn with cares, 

And a woman is fretful, she's weak and she's vain, 
And oft seeks consolation in tears. 

68 



LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 

Beneath spreading branches of yon shady tree 
Where youthful fond lovers would fain like to be, 
With none to disturb their sweet reverie, 
As in thoughts and affections they both doth agree. 

She looks in his face with that bewitching smile, 
While she clings to him closer and fonder the while, 
And thus those few pleasant hours they beguile 
Apart from this world of turmoil and toil. 

With the soft clouds o'erhead that move with the wind, 
And leaves not a trace of their substance behind, 
And each species of bird sings his notes to his kind, 
But those not of his species don't notice nor mind. 

Such plans there are made for the future to come, 
Or they speak not a word as if both had been dumb; 
For of love they're so full, for naught else there is room, 
As they soon will be wed then they'll be bride and groom. 

And they'll settle in peace in a cozy home where 
They'll find mixed with comfort both trouble and care, 
For though they are married and now are a pair, 
They'll find not all sunshine and happiness there. 

For we'll find bitter mixed with the sweet as we go, 
"As we gather the fruit from the seed that we sow," 
And the groom may not be what he seemed as a beau, 
As many a young wife has found in her woe. 

But then 'tis not always the fault of the seed, 
But the ground oft neglected and given to weed, 

69 



Or he may do his work all in word and not deed, 

But sweet words and kisses hungry mouths will not feed. 

And wives that's neglected will whine and complain, 
Then none but the husband should then be to blame; 
But discontent and dissension will follow in their trail, 
And often their smooth course in life will derail. 

For a true happy home we must make and maintain, 
And work with our bodies or else with our brain, 
Though according to nature 'twill go against the grain, 
But from repartee and sarcasm they both must refrain. 

For that is the course they should follow through life, 
If a husband should love and be loved by his wife; 
And should not be distorted with malice and strife, 
And thus I will give to each one this advice: 

Wives, be true to your husbands, though others may 

smile, 
Who'd fascinate and amuse you a very short while, 
Then would loathe and despise you and from you recoil, 
And leave you in sorrow and anguish to pine. 

The husband should cherish and comfort his wife, 
And remember she is the best half of his life, 
And if he neglects her he'll pay well the price, 
For she'll make his home hell or else paradise. 



70 



LOST LOVE. 

Sad is the fate of the maiden whose love 

Hath been unrequited by husband or lover, 

Whose heart hath grown fond and would lovingly bend 
Like the frail open flower at each gust of the wind; 

And would cheerfully follow her love to the end 
The man she had trusted or wedded. 

Sad is the maiden whose love hath been blighted 

In the vigor and freshness of youth, 
Whose trust hath been given and whose word hath been 
plighted, 

But lonely and sadly is now left benighted, 
Though he in her presence hath oft been delighted 

And seemed naught but honor and truth. 

Sad is the maiden or wife who's deserted, 

By him whom she loved still, obeyed and respected, 
But now both in body and spirit dejected, 

For the sweetheart or wife she will fade when neg- 
lected, 
And needs like a child to be loved and not fretted, 
But with tender fond words should be humored and 
petted. 

Happy is the lot of the wife who's contented 

And knows not the sorrows and troubles of life, 

Whose choice of a husband she never repented, 
As he in attentions to her ne'er relented; 

But fondly their friendship and love they cemented, 
Such should be a contented wife. 



71 



LOVE'S DREAM. 

I saw in my dream what I'm saying, 
Once again in my youth I was haying, 

As I danced on the green 

With my little colleen, 
And lingered around there delaying. 

The smooth waters flowed there beside me, 
My instinct seemed only to guide me, 

The birds on the wing 

Would twitter and sing, 
And in their love gambols seemed to deride me. 

Chorus. 

For love is but a dream, a ray of sunshine, just a gleam 
That flickers in the morning as a sunbeam, 

But it makes the world bright, 

Reflecting its own light, 
And brightens up the world as a love dream, 

A love dream of the night. 

Such beauty held me fascinated, 
Those beauties which God had created, 

The meadows and hills 

With streamlets and rills, 
My senses were all captivated. 

The soft clouds o'erhead moved so slowly, 
I was then in the midst of my glory; 

But too soon I awoke 

When it vanished as smoke, 
And then I was dreary and lonely. 

Chorus. 

72 



COULDT LIVE WITHOUT YOU. 

There's a void in my heart without you, 
As I scan o'er my life in review; 
But I strain my eyes in vain, 
And I rack my weary brain, 
As I look and look again, 
Love, for you. 



There's a void in my heart, love, tonight, 
For your smile ever brings me delight, 
And your laugh and winsome way 
Drives from my heart all pains away, 
As the sun's bright morning ray 
Melts the dew. 



Chorus. 



So I want you here to cheer me and call you all my own, 
I want you to be near me, no more from me to roam, 
I want you here to greet me and be ever at my side, 
Then, no more for you I'll mourn and in love we shall 
abide. 



There's a void in my heart without you, 
As that heart was intended for two, 
So I give to you my share, 
And then you'll have a pair, 
As for it I would not care 
Without you. 



73 



With a heart could I live without you, 
As you promised me you'd ever be true, 
And you lovingly have said 
That you no one else would wed, 
Should you live and I be dead; 
Love is true. 

Chorus. 




74 



HER ABSENT LOVER. 

Oh, why did you leave me to mourn, 
Why did you leave me to sigh? 

Now I'm left here alone and forlorn, 
Since you spoke me a last good-bye. 

Your words they still ring in my heart, dear, 
Your shadow still floats o'er the room, 

There is nothing now left me to care for, 
Hence the world is shrouded in gloom. 

The hopes that I dreamed of and pictured, 
The love and the care I'd bestow, 

Are all in my heart still depicted, 
And with every young maiden 'tis so. 

For maiden's young hopes and heart's wishes 
In youth are so hard to constrain, 

Which reflected in sighs and soft blushes 
A calm that she fain would maintain. 

No matter how turbulent the tempest, 
Or the aches that her heart has to bear, 

She outwardly shows no resentment, 
And seems though she had not a care. 

For such is a maid and her nature, 

And for nothing else could she pose, 

For she is but love and love's creature, 
But has thorns as sharp as the rose. 



75 



She represents the perfection of nature, 
And in silence she suffers in pain, 

She's a tribute to God, her Creator, 

Yet for his downfall man has her to blame. 




76 



COLLOQUY OF A DIVORCED MAN. 

(By Request) 

'Twas in my joyous, buoyant youth I fondly learned to 

love 
A maiden who I thought as fair as the stars that shine 

above. 
I'd see her smiling in my dreams, she brought sunshine 

in my life. 
But never was my joy complete 'til she became my wife. 

We lived in happiness and love, my day-star and my 

guide, 
But since the tempter came along and took her from my 

side, 
The daylight since has left my eyes, there's darkness 

and there's gloom, 
And now I see no spark of light, she's left me to my 

doom. 

Tis not myself alone I see, nor for myself I care, 
Although our hearts were rent in twain, which filled me 

with despair. 
'Tis not alone the cheerless home that waits for my 

return 
With none to fill the vacant heart that for her still doth 

yearn. 

'Tis not the smile upon her lips nor the twinkle of her 

eye, 
With which she'd greet my coming home, or bid me fond 

good-bye. 

77 



'Tis not the softness of her hand which cooled my fevered 

brow, 
With which she oft relieved the pain, yet I love her for 

it now. 

Tis not her many acts of love with which my memory's 

stored, 
That I regret the steps she took when she left our fond 

abode. 
In loving memories still I live, they fill my present life. 
But do not compensate the loss of chilren and my wife. 

Those children who she nursed and loved and no doubt 

loves them still, 
No other one can take the place which she alone can fill. 
Regrets in age cause greatest grief, the hardest trials to 

bear, 
What might have been when once too late will fill us 

with despair. 




78 



TWO MAKE GOOD COMPANY. 

Two make good company when there's no one in sight, 
When the two are contented together and true, 

For a life all alone is like eyes without light, 

Which soon lose their luster and their bright sense of 
view. 

Two are good company as one needs the other, 
To stimulate both in the work they should do, 

As the young little Miss needs the help of a brother, 
And he in return oft needs her help, too. 

Two are good company as one gropes in darkness, 
And sees but himself from his own point of view; 

And as age dims all senses, but increases his selfishness, 
When he shares not the love that was given for two. 

Two are good company, as it was not intended 
That we live all alone with no one to cheer, 

And though friendship be broken, 'tis again easy mended, 
For there's no aspirations where there's no love or 
care. 

Two are good company when each gives to the other, 
The sweet words of comfort like the soft morning dew, 

For the heart like the earth gets parched in dry weather, 
And needs the kind words of comfort, to soften it too 



79 



TO MY GOOD NEIGHBOR, J. S. POOL, FROM 
VALLEY MILLS, TEXAS. 



(A Comparison Between the Man From Arkansas and 
My Good Neighbor, J. S. Pool). 

The man who hailed from Arkansas some many years 

ago 
To seek a better neighborhood or die for aught we know, 
He met a man of thoughtful mood and curious or both, 
Who asked of him what kind of friends he left or would 

he quote. 

In wrathful anger he exclaimed, 'The meanest ones on 

earth, 
I didn't know such people lived or where they got their 

birth." 
"I left no friends behind," he said, "They brought me 

naught but woe, 
I had no friends, dear sir," said he, "For each one was 

my foe." 

"Ah, very well, stranger," quoth he, "You'll find it where 

you go. 
You'll find the kind of friends you left, they'll cause you 

just such woe. 
You'll find there all the enmity, contention, strife and 

spleen, 
You'll find there all the enemies you left where you had 

been." 



80 



The self-same man he chanced to meet another on the 

road, 
Who sought to find a better clime by change of his abode; 
"Sir," said the same inquisitor, "I pray thee, sir, unfold 
To me the information, sir, if I may make so bold. 

"What kind of neighbors did you have, how did you 

from them part?" 
"Kind sir," he said, "Such friends I left it nearly broke 

my heart. 
They all were good and kind to me and alas, too well I 

know 
I'll never find such friends again no matter where I go." 

"Pray do not grieve," the other cried, "for where you're 

going to go 
You'll find the people best on earth and that I'd have 

you know, 
You'll find your neighbors there, said he, the kind you 

left behind, 
You'll find those whom you're going to meet are just 

as good and kind." 

[ 'Tis not alone our neighbors, sir, we're oft ourselves 

the cause, 
We'll often find ourselves to blame if we only stop to 

pause, 
We'll find our neighbors as ourselves, they're good or 

bad or both, 
We can't claim all the good ourselves and use them as 

the goat. 

"You'll find most neighbors kind and good, just take 

them in a row, 
Although some may not suit our style, but with them we 

need not flow, 

81 



For water finds its level and ne'er seeks for higher 
ground, 

And those corrupt, perverse, and mean, in such com- 
pany they'll be found. 

'There is no valley without its hills for then 'twould be 
a plain, 

And the desert's land sterility is caused for lack of rain. 

And a man, though gifted mentally, must cultivate his 
brain, 

And if we cause to others grief, we ourselves must suf- 
fer pain." 




82 



ON THE TOP OF COYOTE HILL, OKLAHOMA. 

On the crest of Coyote Hill 

Overtowering lovely valleys, 
Where the winds are never still, 

But play ever through its alleys. 

There a race all but extinct, 

Who once crowned its hills with glory 

With the deeds they had achieved, 
And recounted in each story. 

Of the tribes they had subdued, 

Of the scalps which they had taken; 

And of enemies whose warlike 
Spirit they had shaken. 

And their chieftains whose renown 

Should be told to generations, 
Upon those hills that crown 

Their ancient reservations. 

Where once was strife and spleen 

Then stood nature undeveloped, 
Now all quiet with fields of green, 

Where none his neighbor e'er molesteth. 

For now friendship, love and peace 

There abide upon that valley, 
And the strife that once hath been, 

They now scorn such a folly. 



83 



'Neath the slope of Coyote Hills, 

Upon that fertile valley, 
Where the sound of rippling rills, 

And the songs of birds are many. 

Dwells a man of the ancient name, 

Whose deeds in war hath oft been vaunted, 

And he's worthy of the same, 
As his spirit is as undaunted. 

As the Campbell's and their clans, 
Were the pride of Scottish glory, 

And their names and deeds pervade 
History's pages with their story. 

Beloved by all around 

From the cottage to the palace, 
Of his cattle all are proud, 

As none toward him ne'er had malice. 

May he live and long enjoy 

The rewards of honest labor, 
As he well deserves the same 

So sayeth his friends, 

I am but a stranger. 



84 



MR. MORGAN. 

We miss your pleasant face, Mr. Morgan, 
We miss your smile and grace, Mr. Morgan, 
We miss your cherished words 
Sweet as music of song birds, 
When your visit e'er occurs, 
Mr. Morgan. 

We feel here not the same Mr. Morgan, 
And we oft repeat your name, Mr. Morgan, 
For your absence caused a gloom 
Around our office room, 
And we wish you back here soon, 
Mr. Morgan. 

You were buoyant in your stride, Mr. Morgan, 
When you happened not to ride, Mr. Morgan. 
In your graceful swinging gait, 
Which none else could imitate, 
When you happened to be late, 
Mr. Morgan. 

We'd each day abide your time, Mr. Morgan, 
For the hour you would beguile, Mr. Morgan, 
And the jokes you would reveal, 
As you'd spin them off the reel, 
And we'd laugh until we'd keel, 
Mr. Morgan. 

We miss your joyous laugh, Mr. Morgan, 
Like the nectar in the glass, Mr. Morgan, 

85 



Of the wine which sparkles bright, 
And causes such delight, 
And dispels the gloom of night, 
Mr. Morgan. 

Now the days are getting short, Mr. Morgan, 
There's a void in our heart, Mr. Morgan, 
As the winter with its gloom, 
Which like your absence causes a gloom, 
Just as dismal as the tomb, 
Mr. Morgan. 



86 



FLOWERS EVERYWHERE. 

The flowers that bloom in the sun and shade, 

In the darkest days of gloom, 
Or the biting blast of the late spring frost, 

Or the heat of the sunlit room, 
Or the pastures wild where as a child, 

We picked them in their bloom. 

The flowers that blow where the current flows, 

Or the ebb of the flowing tide, 
Or the rocky hills or the rippling rills, 

Or high on the mountain side, 
Or on the desert lands with its shifting sands, 

That stretch out far and wide. 

The flower that grows where the dead repose, 

'Neath a coat of verdant hue, 
'Neath trees that shed leaves o'er the dead, 

When wet by the rain or dew, 
Where our loved ones lay in their beds of clay 

As you and I shall do. 

The flowers that grow 'neath the glittering snow, 
And are snatched by the humble beast 

As in haste he sped beneath the sled, 
A scant and frugal feast; 

As he is strong and can travel long 
On the bits of snow he'd eat. 

But flowers that's fair grow everywhere, 

Some delicate and rare, 
For flowers, they bloom in shade and gloom 

'Midst rocks and hills that's bare, 
And in the sunlight in our room, 

As we like to have them there. 

87 



WE KNOW NOT WHY. 

Land of the west, where the setting sun 
Doth go to rest when its work is done, 
As it crossed the world and lighted the day, 
With its orbs of light or its burning ray. 

Though astrological knowledge to us revealed 
That we had ourselves so long deceived; 
For they have taught us the sun is still, 
But the earth goes 'round and ever will. 

And that's what causes day and night, 
And after all they might be right, 
But still we can't dispute our eyes, 
As we see it set and we see it rise. 

Are our eyes then false and do they deceive 
And make us see things we do not believe? 
For men of lore throughout the land 
Refuse to believe what they can't understand. 

Refuse to believe, but they can't explain 

All the works of God though they wreck their brain, 

They may protest and expostulate, 

But they can't the truth obliterate. 

For man is weak yet he knows not why 
He must get sick before he'll die, 
But such he knows must be the case, 
Except he's cut off ere his race 

88 



Is finished and his time is run, 

Then he'll sink in darkness as the setting sun, 

But perhaps hell rise again to light, 

Where there'll be no darkness and there'll be no night. 

He may rise to glory from the sodded clay, 
Where he was forced so long to lay, 
For he must sink in darkness, too, 
Before his old body is again made new. 




89 



HER FIRST SORROW. 

Oh, was it her first grief and anguish, 

Or was it in sorrow she sighed, 
As she sought in the shade the grave newly made 

Where they buried her loved one that died. 

The flowers all around were in blossom, 

The bird in glee sang as of yore, 
But her sorrow was deep as her vigil she'd keep, 

For the dead can return no more. 

She looks and the tears come down gushing, 

She sobs as though her young heart would break, 

As she looks all around but no other she found 
That would take the departed one's place. 

The trees seem to join in her sorrow, 

As the wailing wind moans through their leaves, 
And their branches bend low as they swing to and fro 

In sympathy with her there who grieves. 

Yet her grief, was it real or fancied? 

For her loss was a bird that had died; 
Just a Hawk or a Dove, but to a maiden 'twas love, 

And to a maiden love can't be denied. 



90 



THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

How sweet the first rose of the summer, 
As it peeps from its green-covered bed, 

Where it lay all the night of the winter, 
With a cover of snow o'er its head. 

With a look as if waiting to greet us, 
And it seemingly smiles as we bend, 

But it ducks its coy head as we pass, 
At each gentle puff of the wind. 

It's there, all alone, in the garden, 
As no other but it doth appear, 

And I feel I should ask for a pardon, 
For intruding on one that's so fair. 

'Tis alone and attracts all attention, 
But its sisters are waiting to come, 

And they, too, will be equally welcome, 
As they bask their fair leaves in the sun. 

For beauty is never so lovely, 

As when beauty with beauty compares, 
Like the stars when they shine in a cluster, 

Are brighter than when but one appears. 

But the beauty and fragrance it essays, 
And its velvety soft-tinted hues, 

Are protected by sharp-pointed daggers, 
And thorns that vex and confuse. 



91 



For beauty and grace tho oft blended, 
And goodness which all much admire, 

But we find in few all the perfections, 
For none can have all they desi r e. 



92 



TRIBUTE TO A DEPARTED YOUNG WIDOW. 
By Request. 

Gone is the soul that has taken its flight 
From this world of darkness to the realms of light, 
There to share with the angels the visions of bliss, 
And live there forever in sweet blessedness. 

She's gone from among us though pleasant the smile 
On her features so patient, so mild and benign, 
But she scattered the sunshine where e'er she had trod, 
And she walked on the road that would lead her to God. 

She was taken from us in the bloom of her life, 
But had been a happy, contented, young wife, 
But she left not a husband for a widow she died, 
But robed there in death she seemed more as a bride. 

The sweet smile that played on her lips remained yet, 
Reflected no pangs which we're told comes with death, 
And consoled the bereaved ones who mourned her de- 
mise, 
As they knew that she now doth reign in Paradise. 

But her spirit still lingers and we know she's around, 
For the Spirit is free though the body be bound, 
And the loving kind friends who consigned her to clay, 
Spread a blanket of fresh fragrant flowers where she lay. 

In peace there she rests with no sound to disturb, 
Save the moan of the wind there's a silence superb, 
Or the soft warbling notes of the birds as they sing, 
Their sweet notes of love through summer and spring. 

93 



Or the cold winter's blast as it scatters the leaves, 
Which it strews o'er the ground as it moans through the 

trees ; 
With its mournful wail as of spirits that weep, 
As they keep weird watch o'er God's dead while they 

sleep. 




94 



A MAN ALONE IS HIS WIFE'S KEEPER. 

Never trust your wife to another man's care 

No matter how tried and true, 
For there's always danger lurking there, 

Though she acts in obedience to you. 

She grieves when you're gone and there's no one to 
guide, 

So she looks to the friend whom you chose, 
And learns to follow and go by his side 

And in his judgment her own she'll repose. 

As companionship begets friendship and friendship be- 
gets love, 

And that's the commencement of all, 
And where there is confidence, friendship and love, 

There is then but one step to a fall. 

The surf is enticing with its murmuring sound, 

And the waves seem to beckon us in, 
But some who have ventured far out of their bounds 

Have never returned again. 

Don't entrust your wife's keeping to another man's care, 

That alone is entrusted to you, 
And you are the one who the burden must bear, 

Though she suffer her share of it too. 



95 



THEY'LL MAKE UP. 

A wife may show ire at her husband, 
And a husband may scowl at his wife, 

But they'll soon make up, drink from one cup, 
And peace shall reign there and not strife. 

He was mean and low, she'd pack up and go 
To her mother's home and stay, 

And he'd wish she would and said she could, 
And never return, he'd pray. 

They had told her so long, long ago, 
She would make the mistake of her life 

And she'd rue the day till her dying day, 
If she ever became that man's wife. 

But she loved him so when he was her beau, 
And she believed not what they said, 

But she met her fate when it was too late, 
Now she wished she never had wed. 

For her heart was broke as in wrath she spoke, 

As her tears in grief were shed, 
And she cried, no, no, just let me go, 

I wish that I was dead. 

But her tears she dried and then she cried, 

You know I loved you so, 
And I love you yet and I don't regret, 

And that you too well know. 

For your sake I'll stay 'tis just my way, 

I was wrong as well as you, 
So we'll make up, drink from one cup, 

The way married folks oft do. 

96 



MAN NEEDS A HELPER. 

When you travel on the road, 
And you meet a frog or toad 
That would need a prod to goad 
Him along. 

You had better pass him by 
And do not weep or sigh, 
As his destination's nigh 
There at hand. 

For your time and trouble's lost 
If you try to push him fast, 
And lost energy is the cost 
When you try. 

You can't make an ox a mule, 
Though you try by every rule 
That you could work out at school, 
Till you die. 

And an elephant we know, 
Always travels rather slow, 
For he knows the gait to go, 
So should I. 

But the man whose brain is dull 
And has nothing in his skull, 
Is as flighty as a gull 
When at sea. 

For a man is proud and vain 
And doesn't always use his brain, 
And that is why he fails 
Oft in life. 

97 



But when two heads are used as one, 
Then they constitute a span, 
For the other helps along, 
As his wife. 

If he gives her half her way, 
And let's her have her say, 
He will surely bless the day 
They were one. 




THE DOG THIEF. 

Some skulking thief, such is my belief, 
Has stolen my dog and caused me grief, 
He'd watch all night while I'd repose, 
And greet me when I first arose. 

He'd watch and growl when danger's nigh, 
And never barked at stars and sky. 
Like some vile curs who'd yelp all night 
But shrink when danger is in sight. 

He is my dog, my faithful friend, 
My home and yard he doth defend, 
He loves me whether fed or not, 
But still he's shining, slick and fat. 

He'll watch for me till I appear, 
And follow me with love, not fear, 
He's faithful, fond and loving, too, 
And loves as only dogs can do. 

But still they cannot hold him bound, 
When turned loose he'll come 'round, 
Yet could I find that skulking thief 
That stole my dog, I'd cause him grief. 



99 



ODE TO MY AUTO. 

Thou wert fair, my Auto Dear, 
When I first put you in gear, 
Not a squeak of noise or sound 
As you smoothly skimmed the ground. 

Then you started at my touch, 
I changed the gear, let out the clutch, 
Reclined at ease for you were new, 
Twas all I needed then to do. 

But your axles, springs and bolt 
Since received some heavy jolts, 
Yet I thought you'd ever be. 
Just as young and fair to me. 

Then you moved with speed and grace, 
And none else could beat your pace, 
But you've slackened since with time, 
As you now have passed your prime. 

For your beauty is growing old, 
And your brakes no more will hold, 
As old age must conquer youth, 
And you will soon give your last toot. 



100 



ONE HOUR. 

One hour, only one hour, we say, 
One twenty-fourth of a passing day, 
It seems so short as it passeth by. 
We miss it not nor do we sigh. 

Nor give a thought to it, nor think 
Of life's short chain it is one link, 
With it our years are bound together, 
One lost today is lost forever. 

As each is made to fit in place, 

And fill the vacancy of space. 

So many there are we cannot number, 

Yet were not made to waste nor squander. 

One little hour goes quickly 'round, 
Yet sixty minutes in each is bound, 
And it must for each one account, 
As it has but just that amount. 

Each hour four thousand souls arrive, 
And near that number find a grave, 
What joy, what sorrow, woe and grief 
Are wrapped in that one hour so brief. 

One Hour, though precious gem thou be, 
Thou art as one drop in Time's great sea, 
Yet one hour, O Time, is more to thee 
Than thou art, O Time, to Eternity. 



101 



TEXAS. 

In the lovely land of Texas, 

Where the rolling prairies meet, 

And the verdure in the springtime 
Is as velvet 'neath our feet. 

There the kine o'er plains are browsing 
'Midst the flowers that deck the dales, 

While the stars shine out resplendent, 
O'er the prairies, hills and vales. 

Chorus. 

Texas, dear old Texas, 

You're beautiful and you're great, 
And I want to live in Texas, 

The Lone Star State. 

I want to live in Texas, 

Where the sun is ever bright, 

I'm going to live in Texas, 
For it is my heart's delight. 

There is wealth and plenty in Texas, 

Which everywhere abounds, 
There is oil there superabundant, 

That's stored beneath the ground. 

There's cotton, wheat and corn, 
What need we here of more, 

Now our vision is awakening, 
To the treasures at our door. 

Chorus. 

102 



TOMORROW. 

Maybe tomorrow the sun will be shining, 
Maybe tomorrow the skies will be clear, 

Maybe tomorrow we'll cease weary toiling, 
Maybe tomorrow we will not be here. 

Maybe tomorrow it still will be raining, 

Maybe tomorrow there'll be clouds overhead, 

Maybe tomorrow all nature'll be smiling, 

Tho the sun in red halos last night hid its head. 

Maybe the sorrows of life we can scatter, 

Maybe our ills we can then dissipate, 
But if so they'll gather again to our sorrow, 

Or either instead we shall new ones create. 

For the faster we flee from the duties laid on us, 
The more we evade all responsible care, 

The more certain we find the same shall pursue us, 
And wherever we go they will follow us there. 

For mankind came here amid pain and sorrow, 
And his share of life's burdens he cannot escape, 

For if he had none himself, then from others he'd borrow, 
And so in their troubles he'd participate. 

For the thoughts of man's mind they're ever in motion, 
And their course and direction he can't always restrain, 

As the ebb of the tide and the roll of the ocean, - 
As ever and on they course through his brain. 



103 



BABY'S SYMPATHY FOR MOTHER. 

Willing sympathy for mother from the baby at her side, 
As she shakes her golden curls for she is her mother's 

pride, 
And she puckers up her red lips to her mother to be 

kissed, 
And she says, "My pretty mama, if I died would I be 

missed?'' 

Then her mother looks upon her, only as a mother could, 
As she says, "My darling baby, I assure you that you 

would"; 
Then she puts her arm around her and she draws her 

to her heart, 
And she says, "You are my heart-strings and from you 

I ne'er can part." 

Ready sympathy for mother when her heart with grief 

is filled, 
And the hopes of life in future in her soul it had been 

killed, 
For when grief and sorrow cometh for the loved ones 

who have gone, 
And the sorrow which they bringeth makes her beauty 

pale and wan. 

Now the baby sees her sorrow and it makes her young 

heart sore, 
For she loves her own dear mama, if she could she'd 

love her more, 
And she tries to soothe and comfort in her own sweet 

childish tone, 
For the sorrow of her mama is the sorrow of her own. 

104 



Then her mother looks upon her and the love beams in 

her eye, 
And the thoughts that caused her sorrow now are softened 

to a sigh; 
And the baby's eyes then sparkle at her soft and gentle 

tone, 
For the peace that she has given is the peace that's now 

her own. 




105 



BABY IN THE HAMMOCK. 

Swing me, mama, swing me 

In my hammock 'neath the tree, 

When the sun has hid behind the house, 
Then his rays won't burn me; 

And the birds do sing their sweetest notes, 
Then you'll sing a song to me. 

Swing me, mama, swing me, 

For I love to hear your voice, 
As you hold my little hand in yours, 

And you make my heart rejoice, 
When you kiss me softly on the cheek, 

It feels so sweet and nice. 

Swing me, mama, swing me, 

For I love to have you near, 
And I want your hand to hold mine, 

For then I have no fear; 
As when I sat upon your knee, 

And you called me, "Baby, dear." 

Swing me, mama, swing me, 

For I am your baby yet, 
And I want no other mama, 

And you want no other pet, 
For you said you'd always love me, 

And I know you won't forget. 

Swing me, mama, swing me, 

For it makes me feel so light, 
When you swing me gently toward the ground, 

Or swing me to the height, 

106 



And all the time you smile so sweet, 
It fills me with delight. 

Mama'll swing her darling baby 
For she won't be always here, 

And I can't be near to swing you 
And give you a mother's care, 

But I'll think of you and you, of me, 
And we both shall shed a tear. 

Dear, we'll oft think of the hammock 
That hung beneath the hill, 

And often wish we both were there, 
And I could swing you still, 

Upon that hammock, free from care, 
But, alas, we never will. 




107 



A SMILE. 

A kind word and a smile are always worth while, 

They lighten the burdens we bear, 
They cheer up the weary and lighten their toil, 

And help them to banish dull care. 

A smile allays anger and mitigates grief, 

And softens our sorrows to tears; 
And makes the heart loving and brings us relief 

Through the trials in our turbulent years. 

A smile is love's ally and a frown is its foe, 
While a scowl is the venom of hate, 

And oft brings consternation, anguish and woe, 
And for its presence none should palliate. 

A kind word and a smile are always worth while, 
And life without them would be waste, 

And many a quarrel they would reconcile, 
And soften the harsh words of haste. 

A kind word, and a smile no countenance will spoil, 

Nor cause it to wrinkle nor fade, 
But keeps the face youthful and the spirit docile, 

And dispenses peace, comfort and aid. 

A laugh and a smile are always in style, 

In whatever direction you take; 
And a face that can't smile is never benign, 

For there is nothing but sorrow in its wake. 

Mary Cecelia. 
108 



MOTHER, MY GUIDING STAR. 

Mother Dear, Oh Mother Dear, 
When I was sick I had your care, 
When I was young you led my steps, 
And cured my hurts with your sweet lips. 

Mother Dear, Oh Mother Dear, 
You'd guide and guard me everywhere, 
Your gentle touch would cool my brain 
And soften my worst ache or pain. 

Chorus. 

Oh Mother, gentlest of love, 
Thy name forever sweet, 

Instilled into thee from above, 
To guide and watch young feet. 

Mother Dear, Oh Mother Dear, 
No burden was too great to bear, 
No road too long, no night too dark 
To watch and steer my frail barque. 

Mother Dear, Oh Mother Dear, 

Of death and danger thou hast no fear, 

My guardian would'st ever be, 

Thou art a guiding star to me. 

Chorus. 



109 



BABY WAITING FOR PAPA. 

She's waiting at home now, to greet me, 

She's counting the hours till I come; 
Upon her pink cheeks are the blossoms of youth, 

And I dub her, her dad's little chum. 

She smiles with delight, and her eyes sparkle bright, 

She dances with pleasure and glee; 
She'll claim the first kiss as her birthright, 

Then she saddles herself on my knee. 

Chorus. 

One little kiss from my darling miss, 

One little kiss for my dear, 
One little kiss that will fill her with bliss, 

One little kiss that will cheer. 

She follows my steps in the morning, 

Then makes a quick flight to the door; 
And she jumps from the floor to my shoulder, 

To hug me and kiss me once more. 

Tis one of the joys here of living, 

It gives pleasure to children and wife ; 
For that was a loving heart given 

Which sweetens the bitters of life. 

Chorus. 



110 



THE TRAVELING SALESMAN. 

Joyful does his spirit soar 
As you meet him at the door, 
Hopes within his heart arise 
As he quickly scans your eyes. 

For he would divine your mood, 
Are you a snob, or are you a dude? 
He would like to know your hobby, 
As he loiters in the lobby. 

Waiting for his chance to try, 

He would laugh with you, or he would cry, 

It is a salesman's right to choose, 

Or he'd sit and wait in quiet repose. 

You love a dog, why he does too, 
He'll tell you more than you ever knew, 
A bull dog, spitz or greyhound, he 
Had studied each his pedigree. 

Yes rabbits, he just loved the chase, 
He is the one could lead the pace; 
As indoor life to him was tame, 
It never was in life his aim. 

Do you love nature as a poet, 
Ah yes, in song and rhymes he'd gloat, 
He'd love to read them night and day, 
And never would lay one away. 

For they were meat and drink, he'd say; 
And so he'd while the time away, 

111 



He'd wait for the propitious time 

To talk his wares and drop the rhyme. 

For on that theme his heart is bent, 
And when he'd start he'd not relent, 
For then he'd hold you as his prey, 
And if needs be stay with you all day. 

For that he came and for that he'd stay, 
And for that we know he draws his pay; 
But then we like to see him come, 
And always treat him as a chum. 

He is always kind and frank and bland, 
And we greet him with a welcome hand, 
We bid you luck, sir, on your way, 
And wish you back again some day. 




112 



TRIBUTE TO REV. E. F. PARK, FORT WORTH. 

Pastor of St. Mary's Catholic Church, on His Re- 
moval to Another Parish in Chicago. 

Thou hast left us on many a mission, 
Thou hast left us to counsel and guide, 

Yet we knew such to be your commission, 
Hence your success was our glory and pride. 

Thou hast filled us with sorrow at parting, 
Yet ye knew your absence would be brief, 

And we waited with joy your return, 

Which softened, e'en sweetened our grief. 

Chorus. 

Long hast thou labored in the vineyard of the 
Lord, 

Long has thou labored without earthly reward, 

Well doth thou labor, from all comfort here de- 
barred, 

Still doth thou labor in God's vineyard. 

But alas, now all hope we abandon, 

As we know you'll return no more 
To the Parish you built and the converts you made, 

To the sick, the forlorn and poor. 
Many years you have preached grace and pardon, 

You preached to the sinner and just, 
Where you found a desert waste, now you leave a fair 
garden, 

God prosper and grant you everlasting rest. 

Chorus. 
113 



GOOD FRIDAY. 

The Day our Saviour suffered, 

The Day on which Jesus died, 
The Day our debt was cancelled, 

For our sins He satisfied. 

Today the world is sorrowing 
For the blood which Jesus shed, 

Though His suffering gave Light to the living, 
And His death gave life to the dead. 

We grieve for Christ who suffered, 

Who died for the sins of men, 
Who atoned for the sin of Adam, 

And for each of our actual sins. 

We grieve but our grief will soften 

And soon will turn to joy, 
As our dead Savior will be risen, 

Risen no more to die. 

And in a short time He'll ascend 
To God in His Heavenly Throne, 

There to prepare a place for His followers, 
His followers and them, Alone. 

And there shall be joy forever, 
No more shall we sorrow in tears, 

For there will be no tomorrow, 

And God will take from us all fears. 



114 



EASTER MORNING. 

Oh Glorious Day of Easter, 

When the sun shone bright and clear, 
And the Angels came from heaven 

To proclaim He is not here. 

He is not here for He is risen 

Immortal from the tomb 
To lead the way to heaven, 

For He saved us from death's doom. 

He is not here for He is risen, 

As only God can do; 
And shall show Himself in Galilee 

As He foretold to you. 

Oh Glorious Easter morning, 
When the Angels all rejoice 

That their God He had arisen, 
And would soon reach Paradise. 

Oh Glorious Sunday morning, 
When the Conqueror of Death, 

By his power had proved His Godhead 
As none ever had done yet. 

By His power He had unfastened 
The Stone that held the Door 

And moved free and untrammelled; 
God, Our God, forever more. 



115 



WHEN MAN GETS OLD. 

When man gets old he soon gets tired 
Of joys and scenes he once admired, 
Of pleasures that he reveled in, 
But then he's not so prone to sin. 

When man gets old life's not so sweet, 
He's not so quick upon his feet, 
The hills that once looked bright and green 
Are changed to brown, or so 'twould seem. 

When man gets old the golden dawn 
Lit up in smiles isn't seen at all, 
The future with its primrose bright, 
Has left him blank and dark as night. 

When man is old the silvery stream 
Has lost its ripple and dancing gleam, 
And gurgling sounds with murky hue 
Are all that's left for him to view. 

When man gets old life's cares are few, 
There is little work for him to do, 
Then enemies no more he'll find, 
Young men and old are to him kind. 

Though maidens from his glance would hie, 
As with a frown they hurry by, 
As they are creatures with instinct rare, 
And that instinct tells them with whom to pair. 

Those smiles that once they would bestow, 
Are kept for some prospective beau, 

116 



But still now life possesses Hew charms, 

As he has passed through life's rough storms. 

And need but watch life's setting sun, 
As when his life had just begun, 
At eve he'd sit and rock and think, 
And nod his head and blink and blink. 




117 



FUNERAL DIRGE. 

Her spirit has flown now to God, her Creator, 

For whom she was destined and for Him lived and 
died. 

Of the joys of His faithful, she is now a partaker 
With her God and her Savior who reign in Paradise. 

While here as an exile she followed God's teachings 
And kept well His precepts in fear and in love, 

For God was her Light and His angels were guiding 
Her spirit to join Him in heaven above. 

Oh God, Who restored a dead son to his mother, 
And raised from the tomb Lazarus in thy grief, 

Who wept at his death thus to teach us a lesson, 

Yet brought joy out of sorrow to perfect our belief. 

Oh God, Thou Our God, who brought light out of dark- 
ness, 

And Joy, Hope and Love to the forlorn and strayed. 
We pray Thee remember Thy servant in sadness, 

And take her to Thy bosom, the soul Thou hast made. 

Chorus. 

Oh God of Mercy, Oh God of Love, 

Look down with pity from Thy Throne Above, 

Look down with pity and comfort me, 

Thy lowly servant on my bended knee. 



118 



THE BEAUTY OF THE MORNING SKIES. 

Look at the morning sky, 

How beautiful and grand; 
How pleasing to the eye 

As it spreads o'er the land. 

See the sun-darts shining, 

Thru the nimbus shifting masses, 

With rays, thru vapors smiling, 
As over them it passes. 

Note its various hues, 

Of purple, pink and red, 
Mingled with gray and blue, 
As it spreads overhead. 

Behold its floating clouds, 

Scarce moving thru the space, 

As if they feared to wake 
The slumbering human race. 

Thus enters gentle day, 

As soft as opening flowers 
That know not the sun's rays 

Beneath some shady bowers. 



119 



'THE SEA-GULL'S HAUNTS.' ' 

High above the foaming waves 

Hang the rocks with sea-foam white 

Spray which penetrates its caves 
And glistens in the morning light. 

Nesting place for sea-gulls wild 
As they dip to meet the foam, 

In their graceful forms mild 
Happy in their stormy home. 

Lightly toying with the waves 
Or resting on its stormy crest, 

Hidden from the sun's bright rays 
Up among their rustic nests. 

Rocks that stood the tempest's blast, 

And the fury of the storm, 
As the breakers hurry past, 

Ne'er inflicting on them harm. 

Boundaries of the land and sea, 
Further ne'er of them shall go. 

There their limits both shall be 
For the Lord hath fixed it so. 



120 



THE WOODLAND SCENE. 

In the beautiful woodland 
In the spring of the year, 

Where the song of the wildbird 
Resounds thru the air. 

And the wild flowers in clusters 
Grow thick in the shade, 

Or hang 'neath the bushes 
Along the green glade. 

Where the moss on the bank 
Of the clear running stream, 

Or the Lilies grow rank 

Decked in yellow and green. 

And the bees seek the nectar 
From the flowers that abound, 

Which Nature doth scatter 
All over the ground. 

And the aquatic tribe 

As they swim thru and fro, 

'Neath the rushes, they glide, 
As they stand in a row. 

And the waters, they sparkle 

In the silvery light, 
Or the clouds, like a mantle, 

Obscure them from sight. 

But whether in sunlight, 
Or clouds they appear, 

The scene to my memory 
Shall ever be dear. 

121 



"WINDS AND WAVES." 

God with His great big fan that makes such mighty sound, 
And spreads the dust with every gust it blows upon the 

ground ; 
In winter time it blows a chime from the cold and frozen 

region, 
Where the natives crawl in an icy ball and stay thru-out 

the season. 



Where the seals abound as there they're found when 

they break the ice for breathing, 
And they sport and play on a winter's day without any 

fear of freezing, 
But the Polar Bear, they greatly fear when looking for 

his supper, 
And the Esquimaux, an artful foe, he being an expert 

hunter. 



But the wind still blows as the waves arose upon the 

mighty billows, 
And the ships were toyed as along they glide tho their 

spars were bent like willows; 
But the seaman's heart, like the captain's mart, was ever 

true and guiding, 
Tho the ship was tossed as each roller passed upon which 

it was riding. 

And the winds still blow across the bow as they hear its 

lonesome wailing, 
But they speed their way, both night and day, from danger 

ne'er recoiling. 

122 



When the winter's blast of the voyage is past and they 

reach the Southern waters, 
Where the typhoon's force oft strews the coast with 

the debris that it scatters. 

There they find a home no more to roam, nor seek for 

more excitement, 
But take their rest and think they're blest midst easy 

quiet enjoyment, 
But still they find that fate is kind that brought them 

thru such winter, 
For the earth is bound with frozen ground, tho 'tis 

warmer in the center. 

In a sheltered cove where the wind ne'er blows to dis- 
turb our peaceful living, 

And our life is spent amidst content, it's there we should 
be willing 

To spend our days 'neath summer rays, beneath a blue 
sky smiling, 

Where we rest supine 'midst bliss sublime in that easy 
mode reclining. 



123 



KILLARNEY. 

Killarney, the beautiful, that lives in song and story, 
And nestles in the valley, near those lakes; 
Thy mountain tops thru summer are still hoary 
And thou crowned thyself forever more with glory, 
There the stranger's ever welcome at thy gates. 

Killarney, where the voices are resounding, 
Which are spoken like a whisper 'neath the shade ; 
And you'll hear a hundred voices there resounding 
That proceedeth from the mountains there abounding 
You'd think it was some mighty cannonade. 

There the mountains are half covered with green verdure 
In the summer, which denotes the time of year, 
And the river banks are lined with ash and elder 
While their boughs are bending low, as they are tender, 
With the birds that make sweet music in the air. 

There the ivy's clinging close upon those cloisters, 
Where the sainted Monks did chant their evening prayer; 
In those ruins we fancy still we hear their voices, 
And our souls within us still, it seems, rejoices, 
For their memories to our thoughts are ever dear. 

In those abbies where those warriors now are resting, 

Who fought and died to save the very same, 

As they gave their lives and blood while there conflicting, 

As for their rights they ever were insisting, 

They'd rather bleed and die than live in shame. 

Tho their bodies are now mouldering in the shadow, 
And nourish grass and trees which there abound; 

124 



Our time will come to follow them tomorrow, 
As we cannot stretch our lives, or even borrow, 
And human life is like an empty sound. 

In those waters where the fish are ever swimming 
As they sport themselves beneath those gentle waves, 
And those fresh winds from the mountains, ever bringing 
Those soft notes from birds and bees, there ever hum- 
ming, 
Help us to forget and lay aside our many cares. 

Oh, Killarney, most beautiful, no artist can embellish, 
Nor poet can depict thy worthy praise, 
But thy memory, in our hearts, we'll ever cherish, 
And will keep them sacred there lest they should perish, 
Like the waterfalls that beautify thy lovely shady ways. 




125 



THE RIVER FLESK AND ITS AFFLUENTS. 

The clear river Flesk with its woodlands and valleys, 
That starts in the mountains and runs to the lakes; 

On the bank of which grows the drooping young sallies 
And makes memorable those mountains from which 
its name it takes. 

It's fed on its course by the springs so refreshing, 
That wind their way down from the nearby foot-hills; 

And their cool limpid waters that run down so gushing 
As they flow on their way to replenish the rills. 

There the water-cress hangs on its sides in large clusters, 
Or floats on its surface by the eddies' mild flow, 

And the playful young lambs skip around in their gam- 
bols, 
Or crop the young blades on its sides which there grow. 

It flows by a cottage set up on a hillside, 

Surrounded by trees which obscure it from view, 
Where the blackbird and thrushes would sing in the 
evetide 
Their sweet notes so clear from the tops where they 
flew. 

It flows on to mingle with waters that's noted 
For legions of those who at one time held sway, 

And on its clear surface had hunted or boated, 

And around it, it seems, they would still like to stay. 

There was the O'Donohue, the once noted chieftain, 
Who passed from this earth many centuries ago, 

But now every seventh year he still is seen riding 
Upon a gray horse towards the Gap of Dunloe. 

126 



Tho gone from this earth, he still would return 
To visit those lakes where beauties ne'er fade; 

Its grandeur so attracts as to make him sojourn 
And tempt a dead man to get out of his grave. 

The dead loves to linger around its enchantments 
And glide fairy-like all around its cascades; 

And those legions but serve for its greater enhancements, 
Which adds song to the beauty of those colonnades. 

Those water-falls, famed for their majestic grandeur, 
Which are lined on each side with the arbutus trees, 

Which flourish and grow in that green land of wonder, 
That tourists who view it drop down on their knees. 

What beauties are given this earth which shall perish 
And only appear a short while, then they fade, 

But still while we live here their memories we'll cherish, 
And their fond recollections we'll take to the grave. 




127 



THE IVY GREEN. 

The ivy green that creeps and clings 

With a most tenacious grasp, 
And sticks the closer to those ruins 

Thru winter's blighting blast, 
With leaves of dark and shining green 

So fresh when other vines 
Lie withered in the ground, unseen, 

While the church bells ring their chimes. 

It starts, a small and feeble plant, 

And sinks its roots, unheeded, 
To the foundations of those towers, 

As if it had been needed; 
Upward it shoots with might and power, 

To stretch its arm around, 
And takes a hold where'er it grows, 

As its roots do under ground. 

It extends around each vaulted dome, 

Its tendrils ever spreading, 
As if to keep each sacred home 

Their secrets there from telling; 
It cheers and brightens up the scene, 

As if it alone were left 
To keep their memories ever green, 

Who 'neath those shades have slept. 

It holds incased within its folds 

As if to shield from view, 
Those stately conquerors of time 

That other ages knew. 

128 



Those vine-clad walls which histories tell, 

And tradition oft recalls 
The prowess of the men who fell 

Beneath those stately walls. 

It gives back to those ancient walls 

What it received from them, 
While clinging 'round those vacant halls, 

That now are dark and dim; 
They bind each crack that doth appear 

With its increasing strength 
And keeps them safely in its care, 

And binds each broken rent. 

And thus it is, the ivy gives 
Back what it once has taken, 

It binds them with its life and strength, 
To keep them from being shaken. 




129 



THE GARDEN OF FLOWERS. 

The garden of flowers with its nice shady bowers 

In their matchless variety of colors; 
There is pink, white and red, that grows in each bed, 

And an endless diversity of others. 

There's the Hyacinth that grows in the shade of the Rose, 
Tho in springtime they both bloom together; 

And in the Dahlias are found as it were a background, 
Which in beauty all vie with each other. 

With the Hollyhock tall that grows by the wall 
Which looks like some maiden neglected; 

While the Tulip so red that holds up its head, 
As if for its rights it contested. 

There's the Carnation Pink from which fragrance we 
drink, 

And the Cox-Comb which weak ones would smother; 
And the Sweet Williams fair that perfume the air, 

And the Lily that looks like no other. 

There's the Snow-Drop that burst the earth's frozen crust 
As it peeps from beneath its white cover; 

And the Chrysanthemum in fall which is the hardiest 
of all, 
But of its beauty, I still am no lover. 

There's the flower called Sow-Bread that hangs down its 
head, 

And for fragrance is excelled by few others, 
And it cures many ills with the juice it distills, 

Which affects little sisters and brothers. 

130 



And the Fuchsia it flowers as o'er others it towers, 
But is crowned by the bright Morning Glories, 

Which grow o'er them all as they trail by the wall, 
To the first, second, third, and fourth stories. 

And the green Mignonette that sweetens the breath, 
When the soft dews descend from the heaven; 

And the Passion Flower red that hangs down its head, 
With the hammer and nails that were driven. 

And the Bleeding Hearts bend with each puff of the wind, 
As they hang by a stem long and slender, 

And the red drops of blood that hang from each bud, 
While its significance we e'er shall remember. 



131 



THE QUEEN OF SPRING. 

Whence comest thou, Oh Queen of the Spring! 

What pleasures and comforts along dost thou bring; 

What visions of beauty so rare have you seen, 

In what wonderful lands, since you left, have you been? 

What news have you brought since we parted last year, 
What friends have you left or what grief did you hear; 
What sighs when you parted to come to our shore, 
What visions of fancy brought you here once more? 

What hopes of the future, what thoughts of the past, 
Or do you wish to recover the time you have lost; 
Do you wish to revisit the friends you have known, 
Or for your long absence just come to atone? 

You have seen all the flowers in the meadows so green, 
And heard birds' sweet music that enchanted the scene, 
Or the bleating lambs as they skipped and played, 
When all nature in beauty was just arrayed. 

You have seen the spires where the swallows nest 
High above the crowds where they could rest; 
Or maintain the struggle that the sparrows waged, 
Which for its existence it is now engaged. 

On the snow white caps of the mountains high, 
Which you passed in haste without looking nigh ; 
As they know not of the joys you bring 
In thy yearly visits, thou Queen of Spring. 

Since we parted the bird has built its nest 
As you left the east for the golden west; 

132 



What regions of snow have you passed with a smile 
As you hurried along not thinking worth while. 

To bestow them a visit, tho winter was o'er, 
But still tho you passed them they missed you the more; 
What visions of Empire have you seen on your way, 
What struggles of arms as each strove for the day? 

What visions of woe, of grief and of pain 
Have followed you 'round or encamped on your trail; 
You have seen Empires fall while Republics instead, 
Like some giant, step on the graves of the dead. 

And crushed out forever the power that remained 

In the hands of the man, who as emperor had reigned; 

And the "Sick Man of Europe" who once terrified 

All the nations of earth — you were there when he died. 

And the stain was washed out which for centuries en- 
dured 
By the countries surrounding, so their peace was insured; 
What else have you seen, as we're anxious to know 
The wonders that occur in the places you go? 

You have missed the many who were here last year, 
But now have passed from this life of care, 
And when you make your next year's round, 
Some, here at present, will not be found. 



133 



A RAINY DAY. 

Twas cold and damp and the rain was beating 
On the window panes while we were eating, 
And the curling smoke came rolling down 
Upon the street as with a frown. 

While the children cuddled around the room 
And hoped it would stop raining soon; 
While the hen beneath her spreading wings 
Gave shelter to her nestlings. 

The ducks, they quacked the more for joy, 
And with open bills looked towards the sky, 
As if to catch the drops that fell 
And smacked as if they tasted well. 

Beneath a branch of naked wood 
The chickens for protection stood, 
As if that slender twig o'er head 
Would make for them a sheltered shed. 

Like the ostrich, when his head he'd hide, 
Fancies no trouble can him betide; 
The birds had ceased to fly the air, 
And stood in clusters as in fear. 

While the family dog that was so kind 
Lay in the corner where he whined, 
And would not even wag his tail, 
But blinked and shivered as tho he'd ail. 

The hawk that seeks his living prey 
Was nowhere to be seen that day; 

134 



Even the bird within the cage 
Stood silent as if stiff with age. 

But yet the rain came pouring down, 
Which still intensified the gloom, 
And nature all had seemed upset 
As everything was dripping wet. 

The husbandman alone felt glad 
As his crop prospects had been bad; 
And as the drops fell on the ground 
They seemed sweet music, every sound. 

And thus we see what we most dread 
Is what we're often most in need, 
Nor can we much success attain 
Without the disagreeable rain. 




135 



"BEFORE I OWNED AN AUTOMOBILE.' ' 

Before I owned an automobile, 

I, like most other folks, 
Should dodge around from 'neath the wheels, 

Or get mixed up in the spokes. 

No more with safety could I tread, 
But was forced to dodge with scorn, 

And had to pick my steps in dread 
When I heard the tooting horn. 

They came around from every side, 

They drove both left and right, 
As if none else should walk or ride, 

But should get out of sight. 

They e'er flew past me with a toot, 

Like a demon of the night, 
And with their two bright glaring eyes 

Deprived me of my sight. 

My shoes were worn in such strife, 

And leather was so high, 
For I should run to save my life 

When they came tooting by. 

It takes so much for cushion seats, 

No common stuff will do, 
And when the back and sides are lined 

There is none left for the shoe. 

My days of peace and quietude, 
Like the horse, had passed away, 

136 



And I, too, had to step aside 

While they speeded on their way. 

I almost cursed the day I lived 

To see such an invention, 
And wished they all were gone below- 

To a place I will not mention. 

But then I found it would not do 
To waste my life in thinking, 

So got an automobile, too, 
And put other people blinking. 

No more in dread I drive the streets, 
Nor wear my shoes in walking; 

I care not whom I chance to meet, 
And leave others do the talking. 

I drive around from town to town, 
The distance seems inviting, 

And if a tire perchance go down, 
The trouble is but trifling. 

I like to drive a car so well 

That I even got another, 
And nearly killed a "City Swell," 

And ran over another. 

The "Auto Bug" has come to stay, 
E'en tho some may dislike it; 

The faithful horse has had his day, 
But now has got to "hike" it. 



137 



"AN AUTO RIDE." 

One morning, for a pleasure ride, we took an automobile, 

With leisure, time and confidence, we set up to the 
wheel; 

The day was pleasant, bright and cool, we knew the dis- 
tance well; 

But e'er we've time to reach our goal — the result is hard 
to tell. 

We start with confidence and pride, the car is of the best, 
We leave no other pass us by, as if for time we're 

pressed. 
We note few objects on the road, they pass us by in 

haste, 
And as we grazed the passing teams, of fright, they had 

a taste. 

We took the steepest hills on "high," and sped up to 

the top, 
And then we heaved a little sigh, as we just had missed 

a "gap"; 
We still kept up the same quick pace, as we descended 

down the hill, 
But all at once we struck a rut, and there we were stuck 

still. 

The radiator sprung a leak, the cause we did not know, 
But ne'ertheless we soon found out, the thing it would 

not go; 
We tried by all the means we had to designate the cause, 
But we could not succeed at all to change mechanical 

laws. 

138 



The engine, it got heated and would not run a wheel, 
But after it got cold like us, we tried another "reel"' 
So happy on our way we sped, as we were still re- 
joicing, 
For woods and hills and valley lands, such scenery was 
enticing. 

The sky commenced to darken and the clouds began to 

roll, 
And soon the rain came pourning down and filled up 

every hole; 
The creeks and branches all were full and running o'er 

the top, 
And when we struck the same in haste we made a mighty 
gap. 

Such exercise, it made the flush of red upon our face, 
And tho we had to face the rain we still kept up the 

pace. 
We passed a little village where the people looked 

amazed, 
And had to make a sudden stop, as a cow we neatly 

grazed. 

The poor old sleepy "Bossy Cow," she seemed not yet 

awake, 
But still, so we could save ourselves, we should put on 

the brake; 
The change, it made such sudden stop, it caused the 

car to twitch, 
Which nearly put us scrambling into a nearby ditch. 

But accidents will oft occur when we take a pleasure 

ride, 
For when we look behind the scene we see the other 

side; 

139 



So all thru life we find the sweet is mixed up with the 

bitter, 
We went to meet a pretty girl, but somehow failed to 

get her. 

That ride is like the trip thru life, where all is insecure, 
For tho we start with confidence, the pace we don't 

endure ; 
There are obstacles so many that cross us on our way, 
And worse than all we find some who would lead our 

minds astray. 




140 



THE VACANT SPOT. 

That vacant spot that causes anguish, 
That causes sorrow, causes pain, 

Which many vainly try to banish 

And which none would wish to retain. 

Its presence always is unwelcome, 
As it forebodes for him much care; 

But from his brain it lifts a burden, 
But still he'd rather it were there. 

It leaves a spot so smooth and shiny, 
Old Bachelors have for it great fear; 

When they incline toward matrimony 
They'd much prefer it were not there. 

For some betimes he feels uneasy 
As oft his hand he passes o'er 
That vacant spot so smooth and greasy — 
That even looks as tho 'twere sore. 

But still 'twill keep in joy and sorrow, 
For as each night he'd go to bed, 

He'll hope to rise again tomorrow 

But still he'll have that same bald head. 



141 



THE MISER. 

The world is made for all to dwell in, 
For all to seek for wealth and peace; 

Not that we all should make a million, 
For if we did we'd never cease. 



The more we have, the more we covet, 
It seems to be the price of greed; 

No miser ever knew contentment, 

As gold, like pestilence, seems to breed. 

The seeds, they grow despite his reason, 
And avarice clings the more with age, 

It grips him in and out of season, 
It crosses his path at every stage. 

His heart grows callous with constant brooding, 

He knows no pity for his kind, 
No tales of want are to him appealing, 

As to such things he's ever blind. 

For avarice never had a limit, 

It only figures the per cent; 
And of the means whereby they bring it, 

The interest on the money lent. 

The widow and the orphan never 

See the inside of his purse; 
"Where charity many sins would cover," 

The miser's avarice brings a curse. 

142 



His family, tho they once were loving, 
And liked the comforts here of life, 

Were so constrained by constant goading 
That all had left him but his wife. 



And she, poor wretch, whose health was failing, 
And want seemed stalking at her door, 

She's poor, tho wealth at her is railing, 
But still the miser wants the more. 



But life from her at last is taken, 
The only thing, it seems, she had; 

But still, the miser, old and shaken, 
Clings the closer to his wad. 

At last he finds himself forsaken, 
And growing morose, he now is old; 

As one by one his friends are taken 
And he is left only his gold. 

But gold, it will not last forever, 

As to its efficacy we are in doubt ; 

For in hell it is no legal tender, 

There gold, it will not pay him out. 



143 



RICHES VANISH. 

The rich man of today is the poor of tomorrow, 
As he lives in joy, he'll die in sorrow, 
While now his every wish is granted, 
But then his memory will be taunted. 

The riches which he once enjoyed 
And his own pleasure ne'er denied, 
Shall rise in phantoms to his eyes, 
And their worthlessness he will despise. 

And see how vain and foolish he 
Who spends his life in frivolity, 
That money which he loved so well, 
For which his soul he fain would sell. 

Is now as dross or worthless mire, 
And would not buy him one desire; 
It leaves him naught but memories' grief, 
Which never brings the soul relief. 

With riches he was overweening, 
But never kind or condescending. 
Alas! How poor must riches be 
Which can from us so easily flee. 

For riches are but like a dream 
That to our shadowy vision seem, 
As thru the glimmer of the night 
They come and vanish from our sight. 



144 



TO WHAT MAN OUGHT ASPIRE. 

Thou Man who art born to trouble and pain, 
Thy sorrows shall follow thee e'er on thy trail, 
Who in thy life, from the cradle even to the grave, 
Shall never attain nor possess what thou crave. 

When youth is upon these, thou art wishing for age, 
But never content while passing that stage; 
If to wealth thou aspire and chance to attain, 
And glory and honor alone be thine aim. 

Or to power and dominion be what thou aspire, 
Or quiet and seclusion be thy sole desire, 
Or travel extended in quest of new seas — 
E'en tho thou hadst found them thou wouldst not be 
at ease. 

For they are all transitory, passing and vain, 
And tho thou hadst found them, what would be thy gain? 
Man grasps at a shadow with the substance in sight 
And cannot discern the day from the night. 

The wealth of this world that we've got today, 

And we know not but tomorrow may be taken away; 

But the goods that ne'er perish and are now in our 

reach 
Are the ones we should strive for, pray and beseech. 

Thou art destined for something more noble and grand 
Than the joys of this world and the wealth of the land; 
While thy body of dust to earthly things may aspire, 
The "Breath of the Lord," thy soul, should but God 
desire. 

145 



THE INEBRIATE. 

Oh! What an awful fate awaits 
The foolish man who spends 

The money he should keep at home 
With his many so-called friends. 

The man who spends his leisure hours, 
Or wastes his precious time, 

Is sure, for it, to suffer, 
As it is an awful crime. 



The man who looks into the glass 
And drinks it to his fill, 

And empties his own pockets 
To fill the barroom till. 



The Toper that deceives himself 

With vain imaginations, 
And makes a bosom friend of all, 

As if they were relations. 

Tho in dire want and poverty, 
And hunger be at his door, 

He spends his money freely 
With those not known before. 



He thinks not of the future, 
Nor sorrows for the past, 

Altho' he knows not whether 
That drunk shall be his last. 

146 



His thoughts are all awhirl, 
His mind, it gets confused; 

He thinks he's worth a million 
Or fancies he's abused. 



The sot would tell of wonders 
That he has never done, 

But of his many blunders 
He never mentions one. 

His faithful family, left bereft 
Gets but a passing thought; 

He takes to them what he has left, 
Which generally is but nought. 

The inebriate, that reeling form, 

An object of contempt 
That elicits but a look of scorn, 

Or one of resentment. 

The "sot" becomes degraded 
In his own and others' eyes, 

And it seems as if it's doubtful 
If he ever more shall rise. 



147 



THE EMIGRANT. 

Away from the home of his early youth, 

To strange and foreign lands, 
Where wealth and station he had sought, 

And gold from the washing sands. 

He dreamed of countries far away, 
Where the fields were ever green, 

And he had heard some people say 
The wonders they had seen. 

He dreamed of mansions neatly parked 
'Neath stately oaks and ashes, 

Thru shady walks and winding paths 
Where the turbulent water washes. 

He owned a villa in the plains 

Decked in artistic beauty, 
Midst ripening crops of golden grains, 

To ride o'er which was his pleasant duty. 

He saw the sportive fish arise 
There in the waters splashing; 

And all those things he did surmise, 
But such joys, they were not lasting. 

He walks the streets both cold and hot, 
In quest of some employment, 

And even then he found it not, 
Such was his sole enjoyment. 

148 



He looks each stranger in the face 

As if seeking recognition, 
But still he has to keep his pace, 

And seek out some position. 

He meets some others of his fate, 
Who wind their way as slowly, 

Whose disappointment was as great 
And had dreams, Oh! just as lofty. 

And thus it is we often find 

The rainbow that we follow 
Was worse than that we left behind, 

And we gain naught else but sorrow. 




149 



THE PEARL. 

The pearl of the mountains, 

The pearl of the plains, 
The pearl of the valley, 

Which we seek for earthly gains. 

The pearl of the oyster, 

Which is found upon the sea, 

The pearl of the household, 
She is the pearl for me. 

She is the dearest pearl, 
The one we most admire, 

And to make each household happy, 
It is her sole desire. 



The pearl of the family, 

She is loving, kind and true, 

She seeks no compensation 
For the noble work she'd do. 

She is the only pearl 

That's worth the name at all, 
She is the pride of every circle, 

Whether big or small. 

She ornaments the parlor, 
Without her it is bare; 

She is a little sunbeam 
Shining everywhere. 

150 



With her little dangling tresses 
Of gold, or raven hair, 

That falls in lovely ringlets 
O'er a face so fair. 

She is the fairy spirit, 

The comfort of the home, 

But seldom gets the merit 
That's due to her alone. 



151 



THE WAYWARD BOY. 

Raised in luxury and ease, 
Knew not any want or care. 

Ever had been hard to please, 
Never known to take a dare. 

Petted at his mother's knee, 
Ever wanted his own way, 

Spoiled to even a degree, 

Wanted from his home to stray. 

Never would he go to school, 
Rather stay at home and play; 

Always went against the rule, 
Tho he was sprightly and gay. 

Sought the boys the most perverse, 
Never to his sisters kind, 

Always had been the reverse, 
Never was he known to mind. 

Never had been kind to pets, 
Altho somewhat rather shy, 

Never had the least regrets 
For he was a wayward boy. 



152 



THE FIRESIDE. 

One place that man sought 

And which he so dearly prized, 

The pride of his heart 
And the light of his eyes. 

His hopes of the future, 
His thoughts of the past, 

Where he first saw life's pleasures 
And he would fain spend his last. 

It follows his memory 

In triumphs of war, 
Altho it be distant 

It shines from afar. 

No clouds can obscure it, 

Nor make it look dim, 
For no matter how lowly 

It is sacred to him. 

Tho honors be nigh 

And laid at his feet, 
And men seem to vie 

For the privilege to greet. 

And riches abound, 

Of which he never thought 
And friends there surround 

Him which he never sought. 

153 



With mirthful companions 
Who meet at his board 

Or dependents obedient 
Whose law is his word. 



But no matter what glory, 
No matter what power 

That man may acquire, 

There at last comes an hour 

When life is declining 
And the fires of his youth 

Are commencing to flicker 
As in time they will do it. 

Then his memory will wander, 
As he'd wish to betide 

And sit quietly and ponder 
By his own fireside. 



154 




CHRISTMAS MEMORIES. 

A man young in life 

Who knew naught of care, 

Till he took him a wife 
As some young men dare. 

And raised up a family, 
Who in their tender years 

Rejoiced in their pleasures 
And grieved at their tears. 

At each coming season 
When the birds migrate 

And the holly and ivy 
Are hung o'er the grate. 

And the children assembled 

There to celebrate 
The feast-day of Christmas, 

Then their joy, it was great. 

155 



And each coming year 

As they'd anticipate 
The advent of Christmas 

They could hardly wait. 

For that is the season 

That bringeth good cheer, 

Altho it be winter, 
That time of the year. 

But as they had grown 
Some had drifted away, 

And had sought a new home 
As they all could not stay. 

And e'er he had known 
How quickly they grew 

They all had left home, 

And there were left but the two. 

Then he'd see in dim vision, 

With memories light 
Those scenes in revision, 

Tho dim to his sight. 

And he'd wander in fancy 
Thru the past distant maze, 

While he whispers to Nancy 
Of happier days. 

When the childish young prattle 

Delighted their ears 
And relieved of life's burdens 

The weight of its cares. 

156 



He'd sit and review 

With his wife by his side, 
As there were but the two 

And no child left to chide. 



Their children then scattered 
Would seem to appear 

And they lived life there over 
With loved ones so dear. 

They see baby crawling 

Along on the floor, 
While Willie was hanging 

His sock near the door. 

And Lucile was watching 
With raptured delight 

And all were preparing 
For Christmas Night. 

And May, as she stood 

With her stocking near by, 

Which she knew would be filled 
For her bye and bye. 

And their youth was renewed 
By one glimpse of the past, 

And they all were in fancy 
Reunited at last. 

Our lives they are sad, 
Even when at the best, 

Tho it is not so bad 

When we have no regrets. 

157 



When the children are flown 
Like the birds from their nest, 

And they grow up and scatter 
North, South, East and West. 

And some that are gone 
To the visions of bliss, 

But those are the ones 

Most whose presence we miss. 

Tho with them we were buried 
Deep down in the ground, 

For wherever our treasure 

There our heart shall be found. 

When the vision is past 
And the dark shades of night 

Leaves their memories a blank, 
And there's no spot of light, 

Then the old are left lonely, 

As they are bereft, 
And they look but to death, 

Where they hope for a rest. 




158 



'THE RETROSPECT." 

Oh, think of the past, the dreary past, 
Of the pleasures that wafted by, 

Of the memories that shall ever last 
Until the day we die. 

Of the loving friends we used to know 
In our young and childhood days, 

And those with whom we used to go, 
Now we've got but memories' rays. 

The past is always dreary, 

When we think of the chances lost, 
When we think of the dear loved ones 

Whose eternal die is cast. 

When we think of the loving wife so kind, 
And the children's smiles so sweet, 

As they now arise before our mind 
As when they ran for us to greet. 

We remember well, the toddling feet, 

As each year rolled around, 
We watched them grow with such delight 

And were of them so proud. 

But now there is nought but memories left, 

As they are grown and gone; 
And we are left alone bereft, 

But it won't be for long. 

159 



The past, it brings but sorrow, 
As it's filled with vain regrets; 

For from it we cannot borrow, 
Nor with it pay our debts. 

There is so much we might have done, 

But time we can't recover, 
Of victories which might have been won, 

But now are lost forever. 




160 



REMINISCENCE OF THE WIDOWER. 

Alone by my fireside, I rest here tonight, 

With no one to sit by my side, 
To return love glances that once met the sight 

Of her who had once been my bride. 

On her youthful fond charms my thoughts love to dwell, 

When we were both happy and gay, 
And all her love whispers I remember so well 

Which she spoke on that bright wedding day. 

Alone do I sit and remember the past, 

Like a stranger in some foreign land, 
And now I perceive what perfection I lost 

Which before I could not understand. 

How dreary I sit and recount, all alone, 

The days that have long passed away, 
And no matter how sorry, we cannot atone 

For the slightest harsh word we may say. 

For age gets more lonesome and friends get more scarce 

As we pass from the zenith of life, 
And as we journey nearer to the end of our race 

We sigh for the loss of a wife. 

The mother who raised us, her love was most dear, 
And the sisters who brightened our life, 

But no one could cherish or comfort or cheer 
Like the one that we took for a wife. 



161 



THE ROAD THRU LIFE. 

The road I traveled so weary and long 

With its many and meandering ways, 
When the streets were rough and the night was dark, 

And there was no note from the singing lark, 
In my early childhood days. 

While we traveled thru the dismal dark, 
Where the path of life beset with snares, 

And the mist was thick, and our frail barque 
Would toss about like Noah's Ark, 

With our many numerous cares. 

In that lonely road where many stray, 

As they journeyed on thru life, 
And the careless often lose their way, 

As they do not know the night from day, 
In this, our earthly strife. 

Where the weary travel on the road, 

And feel its burdens great, 
As they drag along their weary load 

Upon this earth, now their abode, 
According to their state. 

When we the last mile-post have passed 

And feel the ills of age, 
And find our life is fading fast, 

As we know it cannot always last, 
Nor our ills can we assauge. 

162 



I've traveled nearly to the end 
Midst pleasure, grief and pain, 

Sometimes I break a weakened link 
As all my energies were bent, 

Or stretched it with the strain. 



For what is life that we should strive, 
Or gold, for which we'd perish; 

They are only bands that bind the soul 
And worldly goods which we extol, 

But which we should not cherish. 

When we find life passing fast away, 
We should make a last attempt 

And try, at last, to reach the Goal, 
For if we only save our soul 

We shall ever be content. 




163 



READY FOR THE CHASE. 

How proud she stands and steady, 
With a grey-hound at each side, 

As she casts her eyes so dreamy 
O'er the prairie long and wide. 




With health and pleasure beaming 
Upon her youthful face, 

And eyes with fire there gleaming, 
Just ready for the chase. 

How nobly and how nervous 
Those dogs await each sound, 

Ever ready at her service 
To course the country 'round. 

164 



Ready stands the prancing steed 
Crunching at the bits that bind him, 

Neither spur nor whip doth need, 

But steady hand and nerves to guide him. 

Noble game of lightning speed, 

Thou art matched for nimblest hounds 

Or the fleetest equinal breed, 

Thou can'st lead with mystic bounds. 

Dauntless dost thou lead the chase, 
Awakened from thy sheltered lair, 

In each movement marked by grace 
Of thy form so soft and fair. 

Where thy equal to be found, 

Nor for thy size none doth excel; 

Fearless of the ravenous hounds 
And their e'er approaching yell. 

Tho they sometimes chance to gain 
So near thou feel their baying breath, 

As thy every muscle strain 

To keep from out the jaws of death. 

Agile creature of the west, 

In thy quiet sequestered habit, 
O'er the prairies' trackless waste 

Dwells the Texas coy Jack-Rabbit. 



165 



THE MAIDENS REVERIE. 

Thou maiden forlorn whose beautiful face 
Adds luster and romance to that quiet country place; 
Your pose is so charming you seem there so calm 
As you rest on yon fence by the aid of your arm. 

With your great dog beside you, he seems your lone 

friend, 
But your heart seems to break, which his love cannot 

mend, 
In that calm summer morning with the corn in silk 
And all its soft grains are swelling with milk. 

Tho you glance at them thoughtful with a look far away 
It's plain your mind wanders to some future day 
To scenes and surroundings far distant from now, 
As you sigh not for milk of the corn or cow. 

But you long for the love of some noble mind 
Who would be to you loving, constant, and kind, 
For such is your longing, you'll not be content, 
Without which your life you would count it misspent. 

For you there's no pleasure in farm or field, 
Tho the crops which are sown show a bountiful yield, 
And the meadows in blossom, sweet scented with flowers, 
Have no power to shorten your long weary hours. 

Tho friends of your childhood you'll not soon forget, 
Your thoughts are of someone you never have met. 
He is your ideal created in your own mind, 
For it ever has been so with Eve's female child. 

166 



You've fashioned his habits to suit your own taste — 
You have given him love, enough and to waste; 
For your love you don't need it, it is no good to you, 
It's but held for another, so what else could you do 

But surrender that love you hold but in trust? 
Tho you yet may surrender that love to the worst, 
It behooves you be careful for when once you decide 
You should bind your decision and with it abide. 




167 



HER ENGAGEMENT RING. 

How pleased there she looks and how happy 
As she holds up her hand to one side, 

And she looks at the ring on her finger 
Which betokens she'll soon be a bride. 

She looks at it close, 'tis a diamond, 
She thinks from the luster it throws, 

And 'twas placed on her finger by Raymond, 
For he came there that day to propose. 

She looks at it close to examine 
As she turns each way to the light 

To see if its cut had been perfect, 
Or if tainted with yellow the white. 

Tis perfect — it could be no other, 
For nothing else would he bestow, 

Tho she treated him more as a brother, 
And counted him not as a beau. 



But now, as he called there that morning, 
It had taken her so by surprise, 

And she hadn't got even an inkling 

When he brought her that ring for a prize. 

She happens to think now 'tis curious, 
It all seems so sudden 'tis true, 

She had never thought marriage so serious, 
And there are very few girls that do. 

168 



Her life, it had all been so joyful, 
No clouds e'er had darkened her sight, 

But now for the first time she's mindful, 
She felt not the same there that night. 

No sleep e'er that night hath enwrapped her, 
As she lay there so restless in bed, 

For she feels that that ring on her finger 
Had some way affected her head. 

Her dreams were both startling and various, 
She felt that she was not the same, 

And it seemed to her even more curious 
That she was to change her own name. 

Tis but the commencement of sorrow, 
For joy does not come all alone, 

Twill bring its own troubles tomorrow, 
So her fate she had better bemoan. 




169 



"LAY ME IN MY LITTLE BED." 

Lay me in my little bed, 
Put a pillow 'neath my head. 
That is what "Big Papa" said 
When I went to sleep. 

Lay me where I won't get cold, 
Do not slap or even scold, 
For I'm worth my weight in gold, 
So "Big Papa" said. 

Now I close my eyes and think, 
Everything is black as ink, 
And I cannot sleep a wink 
When I go to bed. 

I would like to stay and play 
As I have all thru the day, 
But I cannot have my way — 
I must go to bed. 



170 




MARY CECILIA GAUD IN 

(The Motherless Child) 



MOTHERLESS CHILD 

Oh Motherless Child, why comest thou here, 
To this world of sorrow and tears? 

With no one to cherish and comfort and care 
Thru thy tender and babyhood years. 

With no one to watch o'er thy toddling steps, 
Or guide thee lest thou go astray, 

No one to wipe off the tears which you wept, 
Or rejoice with you when you are gay. 

No one to soothe your throbbing young heart 
When you sigh as tho it would break, 

No one is ready to take up your part 
Nor palliate for your mistake. 

No one to condole with you in your grief 

Which childhood so keenly feels, 
No one to come and offer relief 

In your fancied troubles or real. 

No one to bathe your feverish brow 
When you lay in a bed of pain, 

No one to care for, or cherish you now, 
Or take you in out of the rain. 

No one to smooth your curly locks, 

Or plait your waving hair, 
No one to sing for you as you rock 

In your own little rocking chair. 

171 



No one to give you the kiss of love, 
Or press you close to her heart, 

No one but thy mother in heaven above, 
But she from you had to part. 

No one to counsel you when you are grown 
And give you a mother's care, 

No one to cuddle and call you their own, 
Or sit you close down by her chair. 

Motherless Child, why comest thou here? 

Only God in His wisdom knows. 
He left you and took your mother where 

There is peace, rest, and repose. 




172 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

There is nothing greater than a mother's love, 

No greater love can be. 

We may extol the turtle dove 

With its plaintive notes and cooing love, 

But it can't compare with thee. 

No danger is too great to brave, 
No perils of the sea or land; 
She'd spend her life in a lonely cave 
Or go with joy into the grave 
With her babies, hand in hand. 

She takes her infant in her arm 
And presses it to her heart, 
And there she sees the greatest charm 
And keeps it safely from all harm 
With all a mother's art. 



Her eyes with love are teeming, 
Her smile is soft tho sad, 
While her babe is sweetly dreaming, 
And with joy her face is beaming 
As she commends her child to God. 

Her thoughts are of the future, 
Her hopes are fair and bright, 
And each coming ray she'd nurture 
As she draws his future picture, 
When she lays him down each night. 

173 



She blesses each coming morning 
As she lays him in his bed, 
And he looks, to her, so charming; 
But each symptom so alarming, 
It fills her soul with dread. 

Her love, it is eternal, 
It goes beyond the grave, 
For death it cannot cancel, 
Nor draw so close a mantle 
As to shut out its rays. 




174 



THE BABY'S CRY. 

Listen to the baby's cry, 

Hear her young heart throb; 

Ask of her the reason why 
And her little head she'll bob. 

Listen to her aching heart, 
How she'll sob and moan; 

Can'st thou go and take her part? 
Or sorrow in thine own. 

See her little arms plead, 

Reaching out for succor; 
It would make a strong heart bleed 

To see the poor thing suffer. 

See the little baby lips, 

How they twitch and quiver, 

And how keen she feels her grief, 
The old ones can remember. 

See the big tears rolling fast 

Down her little cheeks, 
Soon her troubles will be past, 

And her little griefs. 

Your little troubles will soon be o'er, 
But big ones come instead, 

And as you grow you'll find it so, 
The truth of what I've said. 



175 



LOVE'S WELCOME. 

Will she meet me at the door 

With her laughing eyes to greet me; 
As she often has before 

When she smiled on me so sweetly? 

Will she meet me at the door 
With the kiss that she is keeping, 

Tho she has got plenty more, 

But the first one is her greeting? 

Will she meet me when I come 
With her smiling expectation, 

For it is to her rare fun, 

And such pleasant recreation? 

With her snow white arms around 
My neck she was entwining, 

As I lift her from the ground 
To my shoulder there reclining. 

With what patience does she wait, 
And how great her disappointment 

If I happen to be late, 

Then she'd lose her whole enjoyment. 

Will she meet me at the door 

With her flower-decked little bonnet? 

She is three years and no more, 
As I write this little sonnet. 



176 



THE ORPHAN BOY. 

A wanderer in the world tonight, 

The orphan boy is left; 
No place of shelter is in sight 

Where he could take his rest. 

There is no friendly hand to guide, 
No softened voice to cheer, 

No willing ear which to confide 
The troubles he must bear. 



No one to wait his coming home 
And meet him at the door; 

No one to bind his bleeding sore, 
Or mend his clothes when torn. 



He's cast adrift upon the world 

Like Agar with her son 
And knows not which way he should turn, 

Or whither he should run. 



No guiding angel to direct, 
To console or comfort him, 

And he is turned loose adrift, 
And there left, sink or swim. 



He's cast upon life's sea, alone, 
Like a ship without a rudder, 

With none to hear his sigh or moan 
Since he has lost his mother. 

177 



He walks the streets in tattered clothes, 

In hunger, want, and pain; 
None to his rescue e'er arose 

Or help his frail life to sustain. 

In time he'll get to be a man, 
Tho he had no equal chance 

In life's race which he had to run, 
Tho he may yet win by perchance. 




178 



THE VACANT PARLOR. 

They met in the parlor, the young and the fair, 
Their musical voices were a pleasure to hear; 
Their features were radiant with beauty and health, 
But still for one absent some in silence had wept. 

Her chair was still vacant, her place was unfilled, 
Her piano was mute as none was like her skilled; 
For the voice, it was hushed which accompanied its tone 
And now it was left like a grave, all alone. 

There was no one could make it respond to his touch, 
And like the owner who played on its keys, it was 

hushed; 
And tho gaiety and beauty encircled that room, 
But still o'er that party there settled a gloom. 

For the place that was vacant could never be filled 

In the hearts of her loved ones till their own had been 

stilled, 
And strangers had taken their places and they 
Had passed from this earth and were taken away. 



179 



GONE, GONE FOREVER. 

Gone, gone forever to the distant foreign land 
Where there is no grief nor sorrow and they play in 

silvery sand; 
Gone, gone forever on the road that knows no turn, 
Where they meet to part no more from this land of our 

sojourn. 

Gone, gone, the sound so lonesome long with a distant 

woebegone, 
Gone from the cares and sorrows to the world we belong; 
Gone to make new friendships where the sun, it never 

sets, 
And the soft dews of the morning, her fair cheek never 

wets. 

Gone from the darkness which surrounds us, to that 
land of distant wonder, 

And the fetters which here bound her are torn now 
asunder; 

Gone across the crystal waters where the shores are 
set with pearls 

And no danger can o'ertake her in those joy and bliss- 
ful realms. 

Gone to the dark and dismal grave with a coffin and a 

shroud, 
No matter what we crave, with that we shall be bound; 
A few brief tears shed o'er our graves, or may a few 

short prayers, 
They pile up clay and leave us stay thru all the future 

years. 

180 



Gone, gone; 'tis so hard to stay behind, it works upon 

our mind, 
To think she's gone, the clearest one that always was 

so kind; 
She's gone, but still her memory stays thru the long 

and dismal days, 
For to brighten up our lives, they are the only rays. 

Gone, gone, no more to meet until the sounding clarion — 
The few short years which were so sweet, but alas, they 

were not long; 
Gone, gone, and so it shall be sung, the same old song, 
And has nigh to six thousand years since the world first 

begun. 

Gone to that uncertain shore where we never were 

before, 
And the more we think makes our heart shrink, as we 

know not which's the door; 
Gone, gone forever, but we soon shall follow along, 
When we cross that distant river, then they'll sing the 

same old song. 



* 



181 



"THOUGHTS/' 

AT THE FUNERAL OF SISTER ADOLPHINE, 
SISTERS OF ST. MARY. 

She died and they buried her without ostentation, 
No flowery orations were preached at her grave; 

They prayed o'er her softly with quiet lamentation, 
And her coffin, tho plain, was neatly arrayed. 

She's gone from the field of her lifetime devotion 
Where she devoted the years of her life to the care 

Of the youth she instructed in the way of salvation, 
As she knew that their souls to her God was most dear. 

She died in the quiet of her cell in the cloister, 
Surrounded by angels to bear her on high, 

There to rest near the throne of her God and Creator, 
For Whom she had lived that for Him she might die. 

She passed from this earth without sounding of horn, 
Altho 'twas the day that her battle was won, 

For to her on that day a new life was born, 
And a blessed eternity for her had begun. 

The world, already, she had left in spirit, 

And renounced all the joys that her station could give; 
And now in the other she's receiving her merit, 

As she lived here to die and she died "There" to live. 



182 



'THE LORD HATH FOUND HER READY." 

SISTER FIDELIS, SISTERS OF ST. MARY. 

The Angel of God hath again been sent here 

To take a choice flower from the Garden He planted, 

That Garden where piety, patience, and prayer 
Were cultured with care and with humility watered. 

The Angel of Death whom God hath sent down 
To look o'er His Chosen and find the one ready, 

The one best prepared to receive a bright crown, 
And take to her Spouse her good works as a dowry. 

He found there a Lily of immaculate white 

Who had spent her young life in His service and 
glory, 
And sighed that her soul might depart in its flight 
To the Kingdom prepared for the meek, humble and 
lowly. 

She has taken her place with the White Robed who 

follow 

The Lamb in His Mansions where e'er He shall go, 

And to her now great joy hath replaced grief and sorrow, 

For we have God's own Words Who has said 'twould 

be so. 

How trivial now seems the honors she spurned. 

When compared with the visions of Celestial Bliss, 

No more does she think of the days she has mourned 
As in duty to God she had ne'er been remiss. 



183 








P>LAN< 



THE SILENT CITY 



184 



THE SILENT CITY. 

The Silent City where warriors bold 

Are resting now in silent sleep, 
And maidens fair with hair of gold 

Rest sweetly where the willows weep. 

Thru the long and silent hours of night 
They need no guard to watch their tomb; 

They're shut away from human sight, 
They rest amidst that awful gloom. 

Upon the trees where spreading limbs 

Which throw their shades o'er bodies moulding, 

The lone dove coos and the wild bird sings, 

And the wandering mind has a strange foreboding. 

There the mocking bird so cheerly flits o'erhead 
Upon the leafless branches of the trees, 

As he sings his notes so softly o'er the dead 
And opens wide his wings to catch the breeze. 

The Red-Bird in his plumage bright and gay 
Who wakes the stillness with his cheerful tune, 

As if he'd wish to while the lonely hours away 
Or dispel the sadness of that awful gloom. 

When the chilly breeze of autumn's blast 
Blows thru the trees with its dismal sound; 

And leaves that flourished thru the summer past 
Are thickly strewn upon the ground. 

185 



Like the dead beneath their spreading limbs, 
They drop and fall to mix with clay 

And nourish there those trees that sends 
Forth shoots and leaves some future day. 

So those who now are laid away, 

Like seeds that's sown upon the ground, 

Must stay there till the Judgment Day, 
When they shall hear the bugle's sound. 

And come forth with a new-born life, 
That it takes on from the old form, 

Which, like the seed that once was ripe, 
Must die before the new is born. 



Beneath yon dome there lies a man 
Who while on earth his will was law, 

There is no one now beneath his ban 
Nor for his wishes cares a straw. 

Within the portals of these silent walls, 

Where many dear and silent treasures sleep, 

They answer not our sad and piteous calls, 

Whose graves we water with the tears we weep. 

Beneath that grassy mound incased with granite stone, 
Upon one corner stands a slender oak; 

Whose leafy branches shade the silent tomb 

Of children for whose death my heart nigh broke. 

And as I cast my glances from lot to lot 
I see my silent friends lay all around, 

From the white-haired sage to the smallest tot, 
I feel a reverence for that sacred ground. 

186 



There thru the long bright moonlight nights, 

Where towering pillars cast their shadows deep, 

So were the shadows cast upon our lives 

By death of those who now beneath them sleep. 

And when it comes the time that I must die 
I want to lay beneath those shady leaves, 

So all my friends who come and passeth by 

May know he is with those for whom he grieves. 



187 



THE QUEEN OF HEAVEN. 

Mary, Thou art the fairest Queen 
That heaven and earth have known, 
The One who gaveth the only Being 
That doth proceed from the great Unseen 
To save this world of woe. 

Thou art the One thru the ages dim 
Who was promised here to man, 
That should fulfill the promise given 
And to mankind should open heaven 
Thru God, Your Christ and Son. 

Thou art the only human Creature 
That God hath kept from sin, 
For Thou wert destined before creation 
To take Thy part in man's salvation, 
And co-operate with Him. 

Thou art the Queen of many sorrows, 

As Thou stood there by His side, 

And Thou didst witness the horrors, 

As thine own heart was pierced with arrows, 

As Thou wast to be our guide. 

Thou art the Lily of the Valley, 
The fairest of them all, 
Who brought salvation unto many 
And 'neath Thy standard we shall rally, 
Lest we should slip and fall. 

Thou art the One who ne'er refuses 
The prayers of us, below, 
And thru Thee, God, His Grace diffuses, 
And Thou dispense Them as Thou chooses, 
As it please Thee to bestow. 

188 



THE MARTYR. 

The martyr. Oh what noble cause! 
Who'd die before he'd break God's laws, 
And who disdained all earthly pain 
Before his soul, with sin, he'd stain. 

The martyr, Oh what noble name! 
Who none but Saints of God can claim, 
And who defied a tyrant's rage, 
Tho oft of young and tender age. 

Whom wealth and station could not bribe 
Nor all the arts man could contrive 
To shake his faith or make him waver 
And deny Christ, his God and Savior. 

Some maidens, young and fair to see, 
Who scarce had left their mother's knee, 
Or Pancreatian Youths of noble race 
Who ne'er departed from God's Grace. 

And matrons who had spent their days 
In serving God with songs of praise, 
And patriarchs who, tho gray with age, 
Would never quail at tyrants' rage. 

They stood before the blazing fire, 
As if all had the same desire, 
Withstood the racks and piercing steel, 
As if they ne'er could see nor feel. 

189 



The mother saw the son she'd borne 
Exposed to lions to be torn, 
Or other beasts of equal rage 
Were loosened from an iron cage. 

He stood undaunted, lost in prayer, 
For the martyr's crown he was to wear; 
The mother saw each piercing dart 
And felt it quiver in her heart. 

And thus received a crown, like he, 
To wear for all eternity. 
With names too numerous to be told 
Were in the martyr's ranks enrolled. 

That such an army, and so great, 
Should suffer death to prove their faith, 
And with their dying words proclaim 
Their love for Jesus' Holy Name. 

No wonder that Christ's church hath praised 
Those martyrs whom the Lord hath raised, 
And placed their names upon her altars 
To be envoked as Holy Martyrs. 

No one could die a nobler cause 
Than when he dies to keep God's laws, 
For those who lose their lives for Thee 
Shall keep them thru eternity. 



190 



THE MARTYR'S CHILD. 

Oh what a noble heritage 

To be a martyr's child, 
As few have had such privilege 

That for God their fathers died. 
To know the same blood is running free 

Now thru their living veins, 
And are the selfsame flesh as he 

That with God in heaven reigns. 

To know his sacred lips kissed theirs 

Before his life was given, 
Before he left this vale of tears 

And went to God in heaven. 
To feel it in their minds, and know 

That he who gave his life 
Could save it here on earth below 

If he would pay the price. 

If he would stoop to barter 

His soul for earthly gain, 
He need not be a martyr, 

But then his soul he'd stain. 
The Jews felt it an honor, 

And they had often said, 
"We have Abraham for our father/' 

Tho he had long been dead. 

It was not so with the martyr's child, 
Whose father is with God, 

For 'twas prior to our redemption 
When the world still was sad. 

191 



For Abraham had been waiting, 
Tho Abraham was just, 

And always pleasing to the Lord 
And in Him put his trust. 

For there was no admission 

To the vision of God's bliss, 
Before the Lord's ascension 

To eternal happiness. 
He had to await the coming 

Of Christ, to expiate 
The sin of Father Adam 

For the apple that he ate. 

But Christ, after His passion 

Had opened to His own 
The sealed-up gates of heaven, 

For whose sins He did atone. 
But with the Holy Martyrs 

Who died for Jesus' sake, 
They went up straight to heaven 

And did not have to wait. 

So what a blessed heritage 
To be a martyr's child, 

To have a father up in heaven 
With Christ, for whom he died. 



192 



THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 

The Garden of Eden, that wonderful place, 
Which no one has ever as yet found a trace, 
It's lost in the vastness of earth's large domain 
As of it possession man could not retain. 

What beauty and grandeur first met Adam's eye, 
Before that the Serpent told Eve such a lie; 
But when once deceived, how sad was her fate 
To find that the Serpent had used such a bait. 

Poor Eve, she then found herself there estranged 
From the Garden of Eden as things had been changed; 
Tho her thoughts might revert to the bliss which she'd 

lost. 
But nevermore could she atone for the sins of the past. 

Such grandeur and beauty were obscured from her sight, 
But of things so long past it is late now to write; 
But still even now it affects us the same, 
Tho all that is left to us now is the name. 

The name and no more, for never shall man 
Re-enter those gates for he's under a ban ; 
And Eve had to forage the best she knew how 
And Adam to plant without even a plow. 

Their fate needs was sad but no one to revile, 
As they should only worry and work with the soil; 
But Oh, how their thoughts must often have strayed 
To that Garden which God in such beauty arrayed. 

193 



Arrayed, but they lost it, tho 'twas their own fault, 
For they were there but on trial and they had to be 

taught 
That they were not entitled to its peaceful possession, 
As they never had earned from God such concession. 

Their loss, it was hard and as years had gone by 
They no doubt had heaved many a wearisome sigh; 
I feel it my privilege thus to write of their fate, 
As being one of their children I'm outside the Gate. 

But the world was large and they had plenty of room, 
And what they would raise there was none else to 

consume ; 
And time, they had plenty, as 'twas nine hundred years 
In which to wash out their sins with toiling and tears. 

They may weep and lament but could not expiate 
The stain of that sin which they alone did create; 
'Twas for the Redeemer some four thousand years, 
To wash out the stain from this valley of tears. 

Oh, Adam and Eve, if you could but retrieve 

The time that is past, you'd not leave Serpent deceive; 

But oft when too late we find to our grief 

That the one we had trusted was liar and thief. 



194 



THE VALUE OF TIME. 

Oh, Time, which we are given for awhile, 
To work, to mourn, to struggle and to toil; 
To look into the distant future and prepare 
For that eventful Time that's coming near. 

To let our thoughts revert to Time that's past, 
And if perchance atone for what we've lost; 
To make the most of that within our power, 
That's passing from us quickly, hour by hour. 

To make for us some friends before we go, 

So when we leave we'll find some that we know; 

To lay up for ourselves some treasures there 

As for that journey we should now prepare. 

Alas, thou Time, most precious that we hold, 

Worth more than diamonds, rubies, emeralds or gold, 

And of its value now, no one can tell, 

As how we spend it here means heaven or hell. 

We have it in the morning when we rise, 

And when at night we rest to close our eyes; 

We have it when the day is at its close, 

But not as much as that same day when we arose. 

We wish to see it passing quickly by, 

Altho it means the sooner we shall die; 

It's but a feeble step that leads our soul 

From this, our pilgrimage, onto our destined goal. 

195 



It's given to us here while on probation, 
Upon the use of which depends our own salvation; 
The mountains and the seas may come and go, 
But Time that's lost none ever can bestow. 



Of Time's great worth, ask those who need it most, 
Ten minutes would have saved Napoleon's host; 
Some seconds oft have saved a thousand lives, 
Have caused the fall of nations or have made them rise. 



How often would five seconds Time suffice to save 
The wretch upon the brink of his own grave, 
Whose pardon flashed upon the wires that bore 
The welcome news that he should live a more. 



But as receiving keys responded to the sound 

The drop had fallen which lowered him to the ground; 

The sinner who, when death is drawing near, 

And when his heart begins to tremble with that fear 

Of the just judgment which awaits his soul, 
It's then he wishes for Time, in which to atone; 
The priest in haste is coming to his bed, 
Oh, will he find him living or is he dead? 

Is he still living to receive God's sacred rites 
For his soul's salvation while his taper lights, 
Or is repentance late and thus his soul is lost? 
Then Time for him is gone forever and his die is cast. 



196 



TODAY— BUT NOT TOMORROW. 

The day before tomorrow 
Is the only one we'll see, 

Twill bring us joy or sorrow, 
Or whatever is to be. 



Twill bring us peace or pleasure, 
Or maybe the reverse, 

We need look here for no other 
For we shall have none else. 

The day before tomorrow, 

It means only today, 
For time we cannot borrow, 

And neither can repay. 

For life tho passing quickly, 
And we abide the coming day, 

But we'll never see tomorrow — 
We've only got today. 

The sun may shine tomorrow 

With its luminary ray, 
But then 'twont be tomorrow, 

But it will be today. 

So 'twill be with futurity, 

When our life here shall be past 
And we pass on to eternity, 

Which will forever last. 

197 



Then it will not be tomorrow, 

Nor will it be today, 
For time is gone forever 

Where there is no night or day. 

Those who leave until tomorrow 
What should be done today, 

Will find it to their sorrow 
That they were led astray. 




198 



"TIME IS EVER CALLING US AWAY." 

A short time here to us is given, 

Which we should profit by, 
And lay up for ourselves in heaven 

Of good works, a supply. 

All time is short, as time we reckon, 

Not only as it flies, 
For in its flight it seems to beckon 

Could we but realize. 

Its flight is constantly moving, 

Moving on its way, 
And we should ever be improving 

For the little while we stay. 

It moves and we are moving with it, 

As with a mighty tide 
That's driven onward with the tempest, 

On which our frail barques ride. 

For life is ever ebbing, waning, 

Shortening as we know, 
Could we but stop we'd hear it hailing, 

Ever calling us to go. 



199 



THE END OF THE STORY. 

We've traveled together for many miles, 
We've seen roads rough and smooth, 

We've seen the frown, we've seen the smile 
From the gentle and the rude. 

We have gone together hand in hand 

In pleasure, grief and pain; 
As we journeyed through some distant land 

Thru the sunshine and the rain. 

We've fought the bloody battles, 
We watched each weird scene, 

When the deadly bullets rattled, 

Where the fields, now red, were green. 

We've crossed some mighty oceans, 
Where the ships were lost at sea; 

As we often changed our notions 
In our ramblings, you and me. 

We heard the birds' sweet warbling 
As we strolled beneath the shade, 

And watched the young birds nestling 
In the nest the old had made. 

We have heard the brooklet's murmur 
As it wound its meandering way, 

While the rocks cleaved it asunder 
As it spread its sheathing spray. 

200 



We have heard the love words whispered 
When the evening shades were low; 

And the secrets that were uttered 
Which a lover longs to know. 

We have watched the children gambol 
As they skipped upon the green, 

From their cottage home so humble, 
Or the palace of a queen. 

We have seen the different climates 
Where the ice and snow abound, 

Or the sunbeams of the tropics 
Where the deadly reptile's found. 

We have seen the gay rejoicing 
At the victories that were gained; 

And the mourning and lamenting 
For the dear ones that were slain. 



We have seen the guilty culprit, 
He, the author of our grief, 

Who was slain in mortal combat 
After social triumphs brief. 

We have seen the rocking cradle 
Where the baby writhed in pain, 

With the mother there unable 
To relieve its fevered brain. 

We have seen the dead and dying, 
As we traveled thru each stage, 

But after all we felt a sighing 
As we finished the last page. 

201 



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